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MAR  1  8  1936 

SEC   151936 

^ 
,  JUL  (         4 

-      i  5  19*2 
MAY  2' 

89  1950 


APR  131974 


I! 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


JOHN   GODFREY   SAXE 


c?ousThola  Coition 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1859,  1861,  1864,  1866,  1868,  1872,  J873,  and  1875, 

BY  JOHN  G.  SAKE,  TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS,  AND 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 

Copyright,  1882, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1887,  1889,  and  1891, 
BY  CHARLES  G.  SAKE. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Rmertitk  Prest,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


PS 
•?  so 

E*4 

fc*tx/ 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
POEMS. 

The  Poet's  License 1 

Treasure  in  Heaven 1 

I  'm  Growing  Old 2 

The  Story  of  Life 2 

My  Castle  in  Spain 2 

Spes  est  Vates 3 

The  Gilts  of  the  Gods     ....  3 

The  Old  Chapel  Bell      ....  4 

Compensation 6 

The  Old  Man's  Motto    ....  6 

Maximilian 6 

Wishing 7 

The  Way  of  the  World      ...  7 

A  Poet's  Elegy 8 

Tiie  Mourner  a  la  Mode      ...  8 

The  Expected  Ship 9 

The  Head  and  the  Heart    ...  9 

The  Proud  Miss  MacBride     .    .  10 

The  Masquerade 14 

My  Familiar 17 

Love  and  Law 17 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail 19 

The  Briefless  Barrister  ....  20 

Little  Jerry,  the  Miller       ...  20 

How  Cyrus  laid  the  Cable      .    .  21 

What  has  Become  of  the  Gods    .  22 

The  Cold- Water  Man     ....  23 

Comic  Miseries 24 

A  Connubial  Eclogue     ....  24 

Some  Pencil-Pictures     ....  25 

Bovs 27 

The  Superfluous  Man    ....  27 

Toujours  les  Femmes     ....  28 

(iirlhood        28 

The  Cockney 29 

Captain  Jones's  Misadventure     .  29 

Miralda 33 

Le  Jardiu  Mabille 35 

The  Beauty  of  Ballston      ...  36 

When  I  Mean  to  Marry     ...  37 

A  Reflective  Retrospect      ...  37 

The  Knowing  Child 38 

Ideal  and  Real 39 


Pag* 

The  Game  of  Life 40 

The  Puzzled  Census-Taker     .    .  41 

The  Heart  and  the  Liver    ...  41 

About  Husbands 41 

Where  there's  a  Will  there's  a 

Way 42 

A  Benedict's  Appeal  to  a  Bachelor  43 

The  Ghost-Player 44 

"  Do  vou  Think  he  is  Married  1 "  44 

A  College  Reminiscence     ...  45 

Earlv  Rising 46 

The  Lady  Ann 46 

How  the  Money  Goes    ....  47 

Saint  Jonathan 48 

Song  of  Saratoga 49 

Tale  of  a  Dog 49 

The  Jolly  Mariner     .....  51 

Tom  Brown's  Day  in  Gotham     .  52 

Ye  Tailyor-Man 55 

The  Devil  of  Names       ....  56 

Ye  Pedagogue       58 

The  Stammering  Wife  ....  58 

A  Rhymed  Epistle 59 

Town  and  Country 60 

The  Family  Man 61 

The  Snake  in  the  Glass      ...  62 

Ne  Crede  Color! 62 

Clara  to  Ck»e 63 

Cloe  to  Clara 63 

The  Great  Magician       ....  64 

The  Bliirnev  Stone 65 

Ode  to  the  Prince  of  Walea    .     .  66 

Mothers  in- Law 66 

Nil  Admirari 67 

The  Coquette 68 

Carmen  Lastum 68 

Mv  Boyhood 71 

Post-Prandial  Verses      ....  71 

The  Silver  Wedding      ....  72 

Looking  out  into  the  Night     .     .  72 

The  Old  Year  and  the  New    .    .  73 

DeMusa 73 

Augusta 74 

Roger  Boiitemps 74 


iv 


CONTENTS. 


The  King  of  Normandy 
The  Hunter  and  the  Mil 


Ikmaid 


."B 

75 
76 


The  Poet  to  his  Garret  .    . 

The  Dinner 76 

Fools  Incorrigible 77 

The  Best  of  Husbands  ....  77 

Advice  to  a  Yonng  Friend      .     .  78 

The  Editor's  Crime 78 

Paddy's  Ode  to  the  Prince      .     .  80 

LOVE  POEMS. 

Would  n't  you  Like  to  Know  ?    .  81 

The  Lover's  Vision 81 

The  Oath 82 

Unrest 82 

To  my  Love 82 

To  Lesbia 83 

My  Saxon  Blonde 83 

Darling,  Tell  me  Yes    ....  83 

Time  and  Love 84 

Love's  Calendar 85 

The  Lawyer's  Valentine     ...  85 

A  Reasonable  Petition   ....  85 

The  Chapel  of  TWOx  Saints      .     .  85 

The  Little  Maid  and  the  Lawyer  86 

Drinking  Song 86 

Ejro  et  Echo 87 

The  Maiden  to  the  Moon    ...    .  87 

Daisy  Day 88 

A  Summer  Scene       88 

To  a  Beautiful  Stranger     ...  89 

Hercules  Spinning 89 

How  it  Happened 89 

Exaudi  Angelus 90 

Carl  and  I 90 

Do  I  Love  Thee  1 90 

The  Lover's  Confession      ...  90 

A  Philosophical  Query  .     i    .     .  91 

Lip  Service 91 

LEISURE-DAY  RHYMES. 

Chorus  of  the  Dryads     ....  91 

Here  and  Hereafter 92 

My  Books 94 

Esse  quam  Videri 94 

The  Dead  Letter 95 

To  a  City  Cousin  about  to  be 

Married 95 

How  to  Woo  and  Win  ....  96 

Parting  Words 96 

Miserere  Domine 97 

The  Duke's  Stratagem  ....  97 

Tempora  Mutnntur 98 

A  Charming  Woman     ....  99 

"  Justine,  you  Love  me  not "  .  .  99 
"Be  Good  to  Yourself"  .  .  .100 
To  a  Bachelor  Friend  in  the 

Country 10D 

Love  and  Money 100 


Ode 10. 

Part  of  an  After-Dinner  Speech  101 
Ode  to  the  Legislature  .  .  .  .103 

Why  :  A  Sonnet 104 

Laura 104 

FAIRY  TALES,  LEGENDS,  AND  AP- 
OLOGUES. 
Father  Pumpkin ;  or  Always  in 

Luck 105 

The  King  and  the  Cottager  .  .  108 
The  Youth  and  the  Northwind  109 
The  Blind  Men  and  the  Elephant  1 1 1 
The  Treasure  of  Gold  .  .  .  .112 
The  Nobleman,  the  Fisherman, 

and  the  Porter 114 

The  Per  vis  and  the  King  .  .  .115 
The  Monarch  and  the  Marquis  115 
The  Caliph  and  the  Cripple  .  .117 

The  U-jly  Aunt 119 

The  Three  Gifts    .     .    .     .    .     .120 

The  Wife's  Kevenge       .     .     .    .122 

The  Dervis  and  his  Enemies  .  .124 
Rampsinitus  and  the  Robbers  .  126 

Poor  Tartar 128 

The  Four  Misfortunes  .  .  .  .129 
The  Wandering  Jew  .  .  .  .130 
The  Three  Good  Days  ....  131 

The  Story  of  Echo 132 

A  Case  of  Conscience  .  .  .  .133 
The  ( )ri.-rin  of  Wine  .  .  .  .134 
The  Parrot  of  Nevera  .  .  .  .134 
King  Solomon  and  the  Bees  .  .  138 
The  Pious  Brahmin  and  his 

Neighbors 139 

The  Romance  of  Nick  Van  Stann  140 
The  Fisherman  and  the  Flounder  141 
How  the  Raven  Became  Black  ;  142 

Death  and  Cupid 143 

Love  and  Lucre 144 

Wisdom  and  Cunning  .  .  .  .144 
The  Sultan  and  the  Owls  .  .  .145 
The  Pin  and  the  Needle  .  .  .146 
Ben-Amtni  and  the  Fairies  .  .  147 
The  Discontented  Water-Car rier  148 
The  Miller  and  his  Advisers  .  .  150 
Murilloand  his  Slave  ....  150 
Hassan  and  the  Angel  ....  151 
FABLES  AND  FAIRY  TALES. 

The  Two  Angels 152 

The  Gold-Fingered  Brahmin  .  .152 
The  Farmer  and  the  Magic  Ring  153 
The  Grumbling  Peasants  .  .  .  154 
The  Little  Glass  Shoe  .  .  .  .155 
The  Rose  and  the  Fairy  .  .  .155 

The  Two  Sparrows 156 

Love  and  Cure 156 

Death  Insurance 157 


CONTENTS. 


The  Cadi's  Stratagem  .  .  .  . 
The  Kind's  Astrologer  .  .  .  . 

No  Admittance 

The  Stray  Camel 

The  Five  Knaves 

The  Ambitious  Vine  .  .  .  . 
Thvrsis  and  Amaranth  .  .  . 

A  Doable  Distress 

The  Two  Kings 

Jupiter  and  his  Children     .     .     . 

Nous  ct  Vous 

The  Fairy  and  the  Three  Wishes 

The  Rival  Queens 

Providence  Impartial  .  .  .  . 
The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes  . 

Just  One  Defect 

Love  and  Poetry 

Reason  versus  Custom  .  .  .  . 
The  Sultan  and  the  Ex- Vizier  . 

The  Two  Friends 

Persevere  and  Prosper  .     .     .     . 

Lake  Saratoga 

The  Impartial  Judge  .  .  .  . 
The  Elephant's  Sermon  .  .  . 

The  Connoisseurs 

The  Hoval  Concert 

The  Barnyard  Critics     .     .     .    . 

The  Fiirhting  Cocks 

The  Nightingale  and  the  Organ  . 

The  Lizards 

Flint  and  Steel 

The  Lace- Weavers 

The  Sham  Library 

The  Goat  and  the  Horse    .     .     . 

The  Turkey  and  the  Crow      .     . 

The  Bee  and  the  Cuckoo    .     .     . 

The  Silkworm  and  the  Caterpillar 

The  Monk  y-Showman  .     .     .     . 

The  Oil-Merchant's  Ass      .     .     . 

The  Monkey-Tourist      .     .     .     . 

FABLES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  MANY 

COUNTRIES. 

Love  and  Joy 

The  Two  Church-Builders  .  . 
The  Wind  and  the  Rose  .  .  . 

The  Beacon  -Light 

King  Krie's  Triumph     . 

The  Brahmin's  Air-Castle  .     .     . 

Reason  and  Vanity 

Who  shall  Shut  the  Door*     .     . 

Ho.v  it  Chanced 

The  Three  Masks 

The  Ghost  in  Armor  .  .  .  . 
The  King  and  the  Peasant  .  . 
The  Traveler  and  his  Friends  . 
The  Kind's  Favorite  .  .  .  . 
The  Merchant 


Page 
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Pag* 

The  Force  of  Example  .     .    .    .192 
The  Sheriff  of  Saumur .     .     .     .192 

The  Two  Wallets 192 

The  Great  Crab 193 

Love  and  Folly 194 

Love  Omnipotent 194 

The  Philosopher  and  the  Rustic     195 
The  Gardener  and  the  King   .     , 
The  Vision  of  the  Faithful     .    . 
The  Fairies'  Gifts      .     .     .     .     , 
The  Old  General  and  his  King 
Saint  Vemia  and  Satan     .     . 


The  Spell  of  Circe     .     . 
The  Two  Graves  . 


196 
197 
197 
197 
198 
198 
199 

King  Pyrrhus  and  his  Counselor  200 
The  Farmer  who  Made  his  own 

Weather 200 

The  Proxy  Saint 201 

The  Two  "Wishes 201 

The  Traveler  and  the  Tempest  .  201 
Past,  Future,  and  Present .     .    .202 
SATIRES. 

Progress 203 

The  Money-King 210 

EXCKKPTS    'FROM     OCCASIONAL 
POEMS. 

El  Dorado -217 

The  Good  Time  Coming    .     .     .217 

The  Power-Press 218 

The  Library 218 

The  News 219 

The  Kditor's  Sanctum   ....  219 
TRANSLATIONS  AND  PARAPHRASES. 

Tire  Origin  of  Love 220 

The  Traveler  and  the  Statue  .     .221 

The  King's  Goblet 22* 

The  GoldMiiitu's  Daughter    .     .  223 
The  Good  Dog  of  Brette    .     .     .224 

Thirteen  at  Table 225 

My  Bald  H«ad 223 

Girls  !  Pass  Along  i 226 

Much  Love 225 

The  Puppets 227 

The  Pride  of  Beauty     .     .     .     .227 
Little  Peter  the  Porter  .     .     .     .  228 
The  Hen  and  the  Honey-Bee  .     .  228 
TRAVESTIES. 

Icarus 229 

Pvraraus  and  Thwbe     ....  230 
The  Choice  of  King  Midas.     .     .232 

Phaethon 233 

Polyphemus  and  Ulysses    .     .     .  234 
Orpheus  and  Eurydice   ....  236 

Jupiter  and  Danae 237 

Venus  and  Vulcan 238 

Richard  of  Gloster 238 

Othello,  the  Moor 241 


vi                                          C 

SONNETS. 

ONJ 

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24!) 
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ENTS. 
Lucus  a  Non     

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A  Candid  Candidate      .... 
Nemo  Repente  Turpissimus    .     . 
On  an  Ill-Read  Lawyer      .     .     . 
Conjurgium  non  Conjugium  .     . 

My  Queen 

"With   my  Body  I   Thee  Wor- 

The  Beautiful  

On  a  i  Ugly  Person  sitting  for  a 

To  my  Wife  on  her  Birthday     . 
To  Sprin^          

On  a  Famous'  Water-Suit  .     .     . 

To  a  Poetical  Correspondent  .     . 
On  a  Long-Winded  Orator     .     . 
The  Three  Wives      
The  Lost  Character  
A  Dilemma  
EPIGRAMS   FROM   THE   LATIN   OF 
MARTIAL. 
In  Favor  of  making  New  Friends 

To                          

A  la  Pen  see      

On  a  Niggardly  Fellow  .... 
On  a  Miser  .  * 

Aquinas  and  the  Bishop     . 
The  Dilemma  ..... 
The  Parvenu's  Opinion  .     . 
The  Gni'cfiil  Preacher  .     . 
The  Ambitious  Painter  .     . 
"  If  Love,  and  Life  were  one  "    . 

On  a  Critic  
On  a  Quibbling  Supplicant    .     . 
On  a  Coxcomb      
On  a  Quack  Doctor  
On  a  Litigious  Man  
To  a  Borrowing  Friend 
On  a  Suicide     

EPIGRAMS. 

On  Cheap  Purchasing    .... 
On  a  Spendthrift  

Family  Quarrels    
Teaching  by  Example   .... 
A  Common  Alternative      .     .     . 
A  Plain  disc     

To  an  Ugly  Woman  with  a  Sweet 
Voice    .    

The  Truthful  Pretender    .     .    . 
On  a  Rich  Man's  Country-Seat  . 

Over-Candid     
Never  ton  Late  to  Mend     .     .     . 
An  Equivocal  Apology  .... 
Too  Candid  by  Half   "             .     . 

On  a  Poor  Man  of  Extravagant 

1  1  :i  bits 

On    a    Recent    Classic    Contro- 

On  Dining  with  Strangers      .    . 

LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1  When  beauty  was  born,  a  magnificent  fCte 

Was  ordered  to  crown  the  auspicious  event " Frontispiece 

'  And  many  a  youthful  heart  had  danced, 

In  merry  Christinas  time  " 4 

'Beneath  the  hill  there  stands  the  mill" 21 

'  Daye  after  daye,  for  little  paye, 

He  teacheth  what  he  can  " 68 

'  I  behold  in  space  afar 

Yonder  beaming,  blazing  star  " 72 

'  Of  a  Summer's  night, 

By  your  own  sweet  light " 87 

'  The  impudent  cripple  he  savagely  spurned  " 119 

'In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath  of  flowers" 138* 

'  Skalater  and  his  soldiers 

Are  pouring  on  the  plain " 183 

'  To  every  clime  his  bending  sails 

Were  wafted  by  propitious  gales  " ]9] 

*  And  keep  at  least  a  thousand  miles  below  the  nearest  star  "....-..       230 
"  O  ver  purpureum  " f    245 


POEMS. 


THE  POET'S  LICENSE. 

THE  Poet's  License  !  —  Some  there  are 

Who  hold  the  false  opinion 
T  is  but  a  meagre  privilege 

Confined  to  Art's  dominion; 
The  right  to  rhyme  quite  unrestrained 

By  certain  rigid  fetters 
Which  bind  tlic  colder  men  of  prose 

Within  the  realm  of  letters. 

Ah  no !  —  I  deem  't  is  something  more, 

And  something  vastly  higher, 
To  which  the  proudest  bard  on  earth 

May  worthily  aspire. 
The  Poet's  License  !  — 't  is  the  right, 

Within  the  rule  of  duty, 
To  look  on  all  delightful'things 

Throughout  the  world  of  beauty. 

To  gaze  with  rapture  at  the  stars 

That  in  the  skies  are  glowing ; 
To  sec  the  gems  of  perfect  dye 

That  in  the  woods  are  growing, 
And  more  than  sage  astronomer, 

And  more  than  learned  flonst, 
To  read  the  glorious  homilies 

Of  Firmament  and  Forest. 

When  Nature  gives  a  gorgeous  rose, 

Or  yields  the  simplest  fern, 
She  writes  this  motto  on  the  leaves, — 

"  To  whom  it  may  concern  !  " 
And  so  it  is  the  poet  comes 

And  revels  in  her  bowers, 
And,  though  another  hold  the  land, 

Is  owner  of  the  flowers. 

0,  nevermore  let  Ignorance 

With  heedless  iteration 
Repeat  the  phrase  as  meaning  aught 

Of  trivial  estimation ; 
The  Poet's  License  !  —  't  is  the  fee 

Of  earth  and  sky  and  river 


To  him  who  views  them  royally, 
To  have  and  hold  forever ! 


TREASURE  IN  HEAVEN. 


RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  TO  GEOROB 
PEABODY,  ESQ. 


1  What  I  spent,  I  had ;  what  I  left, 
I  lost ;  what  I  gave,  I  have '.  " 


EVERT  coin  of  earthly  treasure 

We  have  lavished,  upon  earth, 
For  our  simple  worldly  pleasure, 

May  be  reckoned  something  worth; 
For  tiie  spending  was  not  losing, 

Though    the    purchase    were    but 

small ; 
It  has  perished  with  the  using  : 

We  have  had  it,  —  that  is  all ! 


All  the  gold  we  leave  behind  us, 

When  we  turn  to  dust  again 
(Though  our  avarice  may  blind  us), 

We  have  gathered  quite  in  vain ; 
Since  we  neither  can  direct  it, 

By  the  winds  of  fortune  tossed, 
Nor  in  other  worlds  expect  it : 

What  we  hoarded,  we  have  lost. 


But  each  merciful  oblation  — 

(Seed  of  pity  wisely  sown), 
What  we  gave  in  self-negation, 

We  may  safely  call  our  own ; 
For  the  treasure"  freely  given 

Is  the  treasure  that  we  hoard, 
Since  the  angels  keep  in  heaven 

What  is  lent  unto  the  Lord ! 


MY  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 


I  'M  GROWING  OLD. 

MY  days  pass  pleasantly  away ; 
My   nights  are    blest  with  sweetest 

sleep  ; 
I  feel  no  symptoms  of  decay ; 

I  have  no  cause  to  mourn  nor  weep  ; 
My  foes  are  impotent  and  shy, 

My  friends  are  neither  false  nor  cold, 
And  yet,  of  late,  I  often  sigh,  — 
I'm  growing  old! 

My  growing  talk  of  olden  times, 
My  growing  thirst  for  early  news, 

My  growing  apathy  to  rhymes, 
My  growing  love  of  easy  shoes, 

My  growing  hate  of  crowds  and  noise, 
My  growing  fear  of  taking  cold, 

All  whisper,  in  the  plainest  voice, 
I  'm  growing  old  ! 

1  'm  growing  fonder  of  my  staff; 

I  'm  growing  dimmer  in  the  eyes  ; 
I  'in  growing  fainter  in  my  laugh  ; 
I  'in  growing  deeper  in  my  sighs; 
I  'm  growing  careless  of  my  dress  ; 
I  'in  growing  frugal  of  my  gold  ; 
I  'm  growing  wise  ;   I  'm  growing,  — 
yea,— 

I  'm  growing  old  ! 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  taste  ; 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  hair ; 
I  see  it  in  my  growing  waist ; 

I  see  it  in  my  growing  heir ; 
A  thousand  signs  proclaim  the  truth, 

As  plain  as  truth  was  ever  told, 

That,  even  in  my  vaunted  youth, 

I  'm  growing  old  ! 

Ah  me  !  my  very  laurels  breathe 
The  tale  in  my  reluctant  ears. 

And  every  boon  the  Hours  bequeath 
But  makes  me  debtor  to  the  Years  ! 

E'en  Flattery's  honeyed  words  declare 
The  secret  she  would  fain  withhold, 

And  tells  me  in  "  How  young  yon  are !  " 
I  'm  growing  old  ! 

Thanks  for  the  years!— whose  rapid 

flight 

My  sombre  Muse  too  sadly  sings ; 
Thanks  for  the  gleams  of  golden  light 

That  tint  the  darkness  of  their  wings ; 
The  light  that  beams  from   out  the 

sky, 
Those  heavenly  mansions  to  unfold 


Where  all  are  blest,  and  none  may  sigh, 
"  I  'm  growing  old  !  " 


THE   STORY  OF  LIFE. 

SAY,  what  is  life  !     'T  is  to  be  born; 

A  helpless  Babe,  to  greet  the  light 
With  a  sharp  wail,  as  if  the  morn 

Foretold  a  cloudy  noon  and  night ; 
To  weep,  to  sleep,  and  weep  again, 
With  sunny  smiles  between;  and  then1 

And  then  apace  the  infant  grows 
To  be  a  laughing,  puling  boy, 

Happy,  despite  his  little  woes, 
Were  he  but  conscious  of  his  joy  ; 

To  be,  in  short,  from  two  to  ten, 

A  merry,  moody  Child  ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  in  coat  and  trousers  clad, 
To  learn  to  say  the  Decalogue, 

And  break,  it ;  an  unthinking  Lad, 
With  mirth  and  mischief  all  agog; 

A  truant  oft  by  field  and  fen 

To  capture  butterflies ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  increased  in   strength  and 
sue, 

To  be,  anon,  a  Youth  full-grown  ; 
A  hero  in  his  mother's  eyes, 

A  young  Apollo  in  his  own  ; 
To  imitate  the  ways  of  men 
In  fashionable  sins ;  and  then  1 

And  then,  at  last,  to  be  a  Matt ; 

To  fall  in  love  ;  to  woo  and  wed  ; 
With  seething    brain    to    scheme  and 
plan  ; 

To  gather  gold,  or  toil  for  bread  ; 
To  sue  for  fame  with  tongue  or  pen, 
And  gain  or  lose  the  prize ;  and  then  ? 

And  then  in  gray  and  wrinkled  Eld 
To  mourn  the  speed  of  life's  decline  ; 

To  praise  the  scenes  his  youth  beheld, 
And  dwell  in  memory  of  Lang-Syne  ; 

To  dream  awhile  with  darkened  ken, 

Then  drop  into  his  grave  ;  and  then  '< 


MY  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 

THERE  's  a  castle  in  Spain,  very  charm 

ing  to  eee, 
Though  built  without  money  or  toil 


THE  GIFTS  OF  THE  GODS. 


Of  this  handsome  estate  I  am  owner  in 

fee, 

And  paramount  lord  of  the  soil ; 
And  oft  as  I  may  I  *ra  accustomed  to 

go 
And  live,  like  a  king,  in  my  Spanish 

Chateau ! 

There  's   a  dame    most    bewitchingly 

rounded  and  ripe, 
Whose  wishes  are  never  absurd  ; 

Who  ili«v-  n't  object  to  my  smoking  a 

pipe, 
Nor  insist  on  the  ultimate  word  ; 

In  short,  she  '»  the  pink  of  perfection, 
you  know ; 

And  she  lives,  like  a  queen,  in  my  Span- 
ish Chateau  ! 

I  've   a  family  too  ;   the  delightfulest 

JMfls, 

And  a  bevy  of  beautiful  lx>ys  ; 
All  quite  i  he  reverse  of  those  juvenile 

churls 

Whose  pleasure  is  mischief  and  noise : 
No  modern   t'onu-lia  might  venture  to 

show 

Such  jewrls  as  those  in  my  Spanish  Cha- 
teau ! 

I  have  servants  who  seek  their  content- 
ment in  mine. 

And  alwavs  mind  what  they  are  at ; 
Who  never  embezzle  the  siuar  and  wine, 

And  slander  the  innocent,  cat  ; 
Neither  s;iucv,  nor  careless,  nor  stupidly 

glow  * 

Are  the  servants  who  wait  in  my  Span- 
ish Chateau! 

I  have  n'easant  companions  ;  most  affa- 

b  e  folk. 

And  each  with  the  In-art  of  a  brother; 
Keen  \vir,s  who  enjoy  an    antagonist's 

j"ke. 
And   Ix-aiities   who  're  fond  of  each 

oilier ; 
Such  peop'o,  indeed,  aa  yovi  never  may 

know. 
Unless  MIII  should  come  to  my  Spanish 

Chateau  ! 

I  have   friends,  whose  commission  for 

wearing  the  n  >me 
In  ki-idness 'unfailing  i*  shown  ; 
Who  pa\-   to  another   the    duty   they 

claim, 
And  deem  his  successes  their  own  ; 


Who  joy  in  his  gladness,  and  weep  at 

his  woe. 
You  '11  find  them  (where  else?)  in  my 

Spanish  Chateau  ! 

"  O  «i  sic  semper  !  "  I  oftentimes  say 
(Though  't  is  idle,  I   know,  to  com- 
plain), 

To  think  that  again  I  must  force  me 

away 
From  my  beautiful  castle  in  Spain  ! 

Ah  !   would   that  my  .-tars   had   deter- 
mined it  so 

I  might  live  the  year  round  in  my  Span- 
ish Chateau  ! 


SPES  EST  VATES. 

THERE  is  a  saying  of  the  ancient  sages : 

No  noble  human  thought, 
However  buried  in  the  dust  of  ages, 

Can  ever  come  to  nn light. 

With  kindred  f.ith,  thnt  knows  no  base 
dejection, 

Beyond  the  sages'  scope 
I  see,"  afar,  the  final  resirrection 

Of  every  glorious  hope. 

I  see,  as  parcel  of  a  new  creation, 

The  beatific  hour 
When  every  bud  of  lofty  aspiration 

Shall  blossom  into  flower. 

We  are  not  mocked  ;  it  was  not  in  de- 
rision 

God  made  our  spirits  free; 
The  |  oct  s  dreams  are  but  the  dim  pre- 
vision 
Of  bles-iugs  that  aha  1  be, — 

When   they  who   lovingly  have   hoped 

and  trusted, 

Despite  some  transient  fears, 
Shall  Vee    Life's  jarring    elements   ad- 

ju-tcd. 
And  rounded  into  spheres  ! 


THE  GIFTS  OF  THE  GODS. 

THE  saving  is  wise,  though  it  sounds 

like  a  jest, 

That  "  The  gods  don't  allow  us  to  be 
in  their  debt," 


THE   OLD   CHAPEL-BELL. 


For  though  we  may  think  we  are  spe- 
cially blest, 

We  are  certaiu  to  pay  for  the  favors 
we  get ! 

Are  Riches  the   boon  ?      Nay,  be  not 

elate  ; 
The   final  account  is  n't    settled    as 

yet ; 

Old  Care  has  a  mortgage  on  every  es- 
tate, 

And   that  's  what  you    pay  for  the 
wealth  that  you  get! 

Is  Honor  the  prize  ?     It  were  easy  to 

name 
What  sorrows  and  perils  her  pathway 

beset  ; 
Grim  Hate  and  Detraction  accompany 

Fame, 

And   that 's  what  you  pay   for   the 
honor  you  get ! 

Is  Learning  a  treasure  ?     How  charm- 
ing the  pair 

When   Talent  and  Culture  are  lov- 
ingly met ; 
But    Labor  unceasing    is    grievous  to 

bear, 

And   that  's  what  yon   pay   for   the 
learning  you  get ! 

Is  Genius  worth  having  ?     There  is  n't 

a  don bt ; 
And  yet  what  a  price  on  the  blessing 

is  set,  — 
To  suffer  more   with   it  than   dunces 

without, 

And   i  hat 's  what   \ou   pay   for  the 
genius  you  get ! 

Is  Beantv  a  blessini:  ?     To  have  it  for 

nought 
The  gods  never  grant  to  their  veriest 

pet; 
Pale   Envy   remind*   you  the   jewel  is 

bought, 

And  that  's  what   you   pay  for   the 
beauty  you  get ! 

But   Pleasure?      Alas!— how   prolific 

of  pain  ! 
Gay  Pleasure  is  followed  by  gloomy 

Regret ; 
And  often   Repentance   is  one   of  her 

train, 

And   that  's  vhat  you   pay  for  the 
pleasure  you  get! 


But  surely  in  Friendship  we   all  may 

secure 
An  excellent  gift ;  never  doubt  it, — 

and  yet 
With  much  to  enjoy  there  is  much  to 

endure, 

And   that  's   what   we    pay   for   the 
friendship  we  get ! 

But  then  there  is  Love  ?  —  Nay,  speak 

not  too  soon ; 

The  fondest  of  hearts  may  have  rea- 
son to  fret  ; 
For  Fear  and  Bereavement  attend   on 

the  boon, 

And  that 's  what  we  pay  for  the  love 
that  we  get ! 

And  thus  it  appears  —  though  it  sounds 

like  a  jest  — 
The  gods  ilou't  allow  us  to  be  in  their 

debt ; 

And  though  we  may  think  we  are  spe- 
cially lilest, 

We  are  certain  to  pay  for  whatever 
we  get ! 


THE  OLD  CHAPEL-BELL. 

A    BALLAD. 

WITHIN  a  churchyard's  sacred  ground, 

Whose  fading  tablets  tell 
Where  they  who  built  the  village  church 

In  solemn  si 'ence  dwell, 
Half   hidden    in    the  earth,    there   lies 

An  ancient  Chapel-Bell. 

Broken,  decayed,  and  covered  o'er 
With  HKHtkiering  leaves  ami  rust; 

Its  very  name  and  date  concealed 
Beneath  a  cankering  crust ; 

Forgotten, —  like  its  early  friends, 
Who  sleep  in  neighboring  dust. 

Yet  it  was  once  a  trusty  Bell, 

Of  most  sonorous  lung, 
And  many  a  joyous  wedding-peal 

And  main  a  knell  had  ruug, 
Ere  Time  had  cracked  its  brazen  sides, 

And  broke  its  iron  tongue. 

And  many  a  youthful  heart  had  danced. 

In  merry  Christmas-time, 
To  hear  its  pleasant  roundelay, 

Sung  out  iu  ringing  rhyme  ; 


;  And  many  a  youthful  heart  had  danced, 
In  merry  Christmas  time."    Page  4. 


THE   OLD   CHAPEL-BELL. 


And    many    a    worldly    thought   been 

checked 
To  list  its  sabbath  chime. 

A  youth  —  a  bright  and  happy  boy  — 

One  sultry  summer's  day, 
Aweary  of  his  bat  and  ball, 

Chanced  hitherward  to  stray, 
To  read  a  little  book  he  had, 

And  rest  him  from  his  play. 

"  A  soft  and  shady  spot  is"  this ! " 

The  rosy  youngster  cried, 
And  sat  him  down  beneath  a  tree, 

That  ancient  Bell  beside  ; 
(But,  hidden  in  the  tangled  grass, 

The  Bell  he  ne'er  espied.) 

Anon,  a  mist  fell  on  his  book, 

The  letters  seemed  to  stir, 
And    though,    full    oft,    his    flagging 
sight 

The  boy  essayed  to  spur, 
The  mazy  page" was  quickly  lost 

Beneath  a  cloudy  blur. 

And  while  he  marveled  much  at  this, 
And  wondered  how  it  came, 

He  felt  a  languor  creeping  o'er 
His  young  and  weary  frame, 

And  heard  a  voice,  a  gentle  voice, 
That  plainly  spoke  liis  name. 

That  gentle  voice  that  named  his  name 

Entranced  him  like  a  spell 
Upon  his  ear  so  very  near 

And  suddenly  it  fell, 
Yet  soft  and  musical,  as  't  were 

The  whisper  of  a  bell. 

"  Since  last  I  spoke,"  the  voice  began, 
"  Seems  many  a  dreary  year  ! 

(Albeit,  't  is  only  since  thy  birth 
I've  lain  neglected  here!  ) 

Pray  list,  while  I  rehearse  a  tale 
Behooves  thee  much  to  hear. 

"Once,  from  yon  ivied  tower,  I  watched 

The  villagers  around, 
And  gave  to  all  their  joys  and  griefs 

A  sympathetic  sound, — 
But  most  are  sleeping,  now,  within 

This  consecrated  ground. 

"  I  used  to  ring  my  merriest  peal 
To  hail  the  blushing  bride ; 

I  sadly  tolled  for  men  cut  down 
In  strength  and  mauly  pride; 


And  solemnly,  —  not  mournfully,  — 
When  little  children  died. 

"  But,  chief,  my  duty  was  to  bid 

The  villagers  repair, 
On  each  return  ing  sabbath  morn 

Unto  the  House  of  Prayer, 
And  in  his  own  appointed  place 

The  Saviour's  mercy  share. 

"  Ah  !  well  I  mind  me  of  a  child, 

A  gleesome,  happy  maid, 
Who    came,    with    constant     step,    to 
church, 

In  comely  garb  arrayed, 
And  knelt  her  down  full  solemnly, 

And  penitently  prayed. 

"  And  oft,   when  church  was  done,  I 
marked 

That  little  maiden  near 
This  pleasant  spot,  with  book  in  hand, 

As  you  are  sitting  here,  — 
She  read  the  Story  of  the  Cross, 

And  wept  with  grief  sincere. 

"  Years  rolled  away,  —  and  I  beheld; 
The  child  to  woman  grown  ; 

Her  cheek  was  fairer,  and  her  eye 
With  brighter  lustre  shone  ; 

But  childhood's  truth  and  innocence- 
Were  still  the  maiden's  own. 

"  I  never  rang  a  merrier  peal 

Than  when,  a  joyous  bride, 
She  stood  beneath  the  sacred  porch, 

A  noble  youth  beside, 
And  plighted  him  her  maiden  troth, 

In  maiden  love  and  pride. 

"  I  never  tolled  a  deeper  knell, 

Than  when,  in  after  years, 
They  laid  her  in  the  churchvard  here,. 

Where  this  low  mound  appears,  — 
( The  very  grave,  my  boy,  that  you 

Are  watering  now  with  tears  !) 

"  It  is  thi/  mother  !  gentle  boy, 
That  claims  this  tale  of  mine,  — - 

Thou  art  a  flower  whose  fatal  birth 
Destroyed  the  parent  vine  ! 

A  precious  flower  art  thou,  my  child, — . 

TWO  LIVES  WERE  G1VKN  FOR  THINE  '/ 

"One  was  thy  sainted  mother's,  when 
She  gave  thee  mortal  birth  ; 

And  one  thy  Saviour  s,  when  in  death. 
He  shook  the  solid  earth  ; 


MAXIMILIAN. 


Go  !  boy,  and  live  as  may  befit 
Thy  life's  exceeding  worth  !  " 

The  boy  awoke,  as  from  a  dream. 
And,  thoughtful,  looked  around, 

But  nothing  saw,  save  at  his  feet 
His  mother's  lowly  mound, 

And  by  its  side  that  ancient  Bell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  ground ! 


COMPENSATION. 


WHEN  once,  in  "  Merrie  England,' 

A  prisoner  of  state 
Stood  waiting  death  or  exile, 

Submissive  to  his  fate, 
He  made  this  famous  answer,  — 
"  Si  longa,  levis  ; 
Si  dura,  breois  ; 

•Go  tell  your  tyrant  chief, 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 

Cruel  ones  are  brief  !  " 


Alas  !  we  all  are  culprits  ; 

Our  bodies  doomed  to  bear 
Discomforts  and  diseases, 

And  none  may  'scape  his  share  ; 
But  God  in  pity  orders, 
Si  longa,  levis ; 
Si  dura,  brevis ; 

He  grants  us  this  relief, 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 

Cruel  ones  are  brief. 


Nor  less  the  mind  must  suffer 

Its  weight  of  care  and  woe, 
Afflictions  and  bereavements 

Itself  can  only  know  ; 
But  let  us  still  remember, 
Si  longa,  levis ; 
Si  dura,  brevis ; 

To  moderate  our  grief,  — 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 

Cruel  ones  are  brief. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  MOTTO. 

'Give  me  a  motto  !  "  said  a  youth 
To  one   whom  years   had*  rendered 
wise; 


"  Some   pleasant  thought,  or  weighty 

truth, 

That  briefest  syllables  comprise  ; 
Some  word  of  warning  or  of  cheer 
To  grave  upon  my  signet  here. 

"  And,  reverend  father,"  said  the  boy, 
"  Since  life,  they  say,  is  ever  made" 

A  mingled  web  of  grief  and  joy, 

Since  cares  may  come  and  "pleasures 
fade,  — 

Pray,  let  the  motto  have  a  range 

Of  meaning  matching  everv  change." 

"  Sooth !  "  said  the  sire,  "  methiuks  you 
ask 

A  labor  something  over-nice, 
That  well  a  finer  brain  might  task. 

What  think  you,  lad,  of  this  device 
(Older  than  I,  though  I  am  gray), 
'T  is  simple,  — '  This  will  pass  away '  ? 

"  When  wafted  on  by  Fortune's  breeze, 
In    endless    peace    thou    seem'st    to 
glide, 

Prepare  betimes  for  rougher  seas, 

And  check  the  boast  of  foolish  pride  ; 

Though  smiling  joy  is  thine  to-day, 

Remember,  '  This  will  pass  away*! ' 

"  When  all  the  sky  is  draped  in  black, 
And,  beaten  by  tempestuous  gales, 

Thy    shuddering    ship    seems    all    a- 

wrack, 
Then  trim  again  thy  tattered  sails  ; 

To  grim  Despair  be  not  a  prey  ; 

Bethink  thee,  '  This  will  pass  away  ! ' 

"  Thus,  O  my  son,  be  not  o'er-proud, 
Nor    yet    cast    down  ;    judge     thou 
aright ; 

When  skies  are  clear,  expect  the  cloud; 
In  darkness,  wait  the  coming  light; 

Whatever  be  thy  fate  to-day, 

Remember,  '  This  will  pass  away  ! '  " 


MAXIMILIAN. 

NOT  with  a  craven  spirit  he 
Submitted  to  the  harsh  decree 
That  bade  him  die  before  his  time, 
Cut  off  in  manhood's  golden  prime,  — 
Poor  Maximilian  ! 

And  some  who  marked  his  noble  mien, 
Hia  dauntless  heart,  his  soul  serene, 


THE   WAY  OF  THE    WORLD. 


Have  deemed  they  saw  a  martyr  die, 
forth  the  solemn  cry 
Great  Maximilian  ! 


And  chorused  forth  the  solemn  cry, 
" 


Alas  !  Ambition  was  his  sin  ; 
He  staked  his  life  a  throne  to  win  ; 
Counted  amiss  the  fearful  cost 
(As  chiefs  have  done  before  )  ,  —  and  lost  ! 
Rash  Maximilian  ! 

'T  is  not  the  victim's  tragic  fate, 
Nor  calm  endurance,  makes  him  great  ; 
Mere  lust  of  empire  and  renown 
Can  never  claim  the  martyr's  crown, 
Brave  Maximilian  ! 

Alas  !  it  fell,  that,  in  thy  aim 
To  win  a  sovereign's  power  and  fame, 
Thy  better  nature  lost  its  force, 
And  royal  crimes  disgraced  thy  course, 
King  Maximilian  ! 

Alas  !  what  ground  for  mercy's  plea 
In  his  behalf,  whose  fell  decree 
Gave  soldiers  unto  felons'  graves, 
And  freemen  to  the  doom  of  slaves,  — 
Fierce  Maximilian  ? 

I  loathe  the  rude,  barbaric  wrath 
That  slew  thee  in  thy  vent'rous  path  ; 
But  "  they  who  take,"  thus  saith  the 

Lord, 

"  Shall  also  perish  by  the  sword," 
Doomed  Maximilian  ! 

But,  when  I  think  upon  the  scene,  — 
Thy  fearful  fate,  thy  wretched  queen,  — 
And  mark  how  bravely  thou  didst  die, 
I  breathe  again  the  pitying  sigh, 

"  Poor  Maximilian  !  " 


WISHING. 

OF  all  amusements  for  the  mind, 

From  logic  down  to  fishing, 
There  is  n't  one  that  you  can  find 

So  very  cheap  as  "  wishing." 
A  very  choice  diversion  toe, 

If  we  but  rightly  use  it, 
And  not,  as  we  are  apt  to  do, 

Pervert  it,  and  abuse  it. 

I  wish,  — a  common  wish,  indeed,  — 
My  purse,  were  somewhat  fatter, 

That  1  might  cheer  the  child  of  need, 
And  not  my  pride  to  flatter ; 


That  I  might  make  Oppression  reel, 

As  only  gold  can  make  it, 
And  break  the  Tyrant's  rod  of  steel, 

As  only  gold  can  break  it. 

I  wish  —  that  Sympathy  and  Love, 

And  every  human  passion 
That  has  its  origin  above, 

Would  come  and  keep  in  fashion  ; 
That  Scorn,  and  Jealousy,  and  Hate, 

And  every  base  emotion, 
Were  buried  fifty  fathom  deep 

Beneath  the  waves  of  Ocean  ! 

I  wish  —  that  friends  were  always  trne^ 

And  motives  always  pure ; 
I  wish  the  good  were  not  so  few, 

I  wish  the  bad  were  fewer ; 
I  wish  that  parsons  ne'er  forgot 

To  heed  their  pious  teaching ; 
I  wish  that  practicing  was  not 

So  different  from  preaching ! 

I  wish  —  that  modest  worth  might  be 

Appraised  with  truth  and  candor ; 
I  wisli  that  innocence  were  free 

From  treachery  and  slander ; 
I  wish  that  men  their  vows  would  mind ; 

That  women  ne'er  were  rovers  ; 
I  wish  that  wives  were  always  kind, 

And  husbands  always  lovers! 

I  wish  —  in  fine  —  that  Joy  and  Mirth, 

And  every  good  Ideal, 
May  come    erewhile,    throughout   the 
earth, 

To  be  the  glorious  Real  ; 
Till  God  shall  every  creature  bless 

With  his  supremest  blessing, 
And  Hope  be  lost  in  Happiness, 

And  wishing  in  Possessing ! 


THE   WAY  OF  THE   WORLD. 


A  YOUTH  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she  ; 
But  she  was  rich,  and  he  was  poor, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  lady  never  could  wear  — 

Her  mother  held  it  firm.  — 
A    gown    that  came    of  an    India 

plant, 

Instead  of  an  India  worm.  — 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 


THE  MOURNER  A  LA  MODE. 


A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  wns  she  ; 
But  he  was  high  and  she  was  low, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 

A  man  who  had  worn  a  spur, 

In  ancient  battle  won, 
Had  sent    it   down    with  great   re- 
nown, 

To  goad  his  future  son  ! — 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken  ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 


A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she  ; 
But   their    sires    disputed    about    the 

Mass, 

And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  coupte  of  wicked  Icings, 

Three  hundred  years  agone, 
Had  played  at  a  roi/al  game  of  chess, 
And    the     Church    had    been    a 

pawn ! — 

And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken  ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were  broken. 


A  POET'S  ELEGY. 

HERE  rests,  at  last,  from  worldly  care 

and  strife, 

A  gentle  man-of-rhyme, 
Not  all  unknown  to  fame,  —  whose  lays 

and  life 
Full  short  of  the  sublime. 

Y^t,  as  his  poems  ('t  was  the  critics' 

praise) 

Betrayed  a  careful  mind, 
His  life,  with  less  of  license  than  his 

lays, 
To  Virtue  was  inclined. 

Whate'er  of  Wit  the  kindly  Muse  sup- 
plied 

He  ever  strove  to  bend 
To  Folly's  hurt ;  nor  once  with  wanton 

pride 
Employed  to  pain  a  friend. 

He  loved  a  quip,  but  in  his  jesting  vein 

With  studious  care  effaced 
The  doubtful  word  that  threatened  to 
profane 

The  sacred  or  the  chaste. 


He  loathed  the  covert,  diabolic  jeer 
That  conscience  undermines ; 

No  hinted  sacrilege  nor  skeptic  sneer 
Lurks  in  his  laughing  Hues. 

With  satire's  sword  to  pierce  the  false 

and  wrong ; 
A  ballad  to  invent 
That  bore  a  wholesome  sermon  in  the 

song,  — 
Such  was  the  poet's  bent. 

In  social  converse,  "  happy  as  a  king." 

When  colder  men  refrained 
From  daring  flights,  he  gave  his  fancy 
wing 

And  freedom  unrestrained. 

And  golden  thoughts,  at  times,  —  a  mot- 
ley brood, — 

Came  flashing  from  the  mine  ; 
And  fools  who  saw  him  in   his  merry 

mood 
Accused  the  uutasted  wine. 

He  valued  friendship's  favor  more  than 

fame, 

And  paid  his  social  dues  ; 
He  loved  his  Art,  —  but  held  his  manly 

name 
Far  dearer  than  his  Muse. 

And  partial  friends,  while  gayly  laugh- 
ing o'er 

The  merry  lines  they  quote, 
Say  with  a  sigh,  "  To  us  the  man  was 

more 
Than  aught  he  ever  wrote  !  " 


THE  MOURNER  A  LA  MODE. 

I  SAW  her  last  night  at  a  party 

(The  elegant  party  at  Mead's), 
And  looking  remarkably  hearty 

For  a  widow  so  young  in  her  weeds ; 
Yet  I  know  she  was  suffering  sorrow 

Too  deep  for  the  tongue  to  express,  — 
Or  why  had  she  chosen  to  borrow 

So  much  from  the  language  of  dress  7 

Her  shawl  was  as  sable  as  night ; 

And  her  gloves  were  as  dark  as  her 

shawl ; 
And  her  jewels  — that  flashed  in  the 

light  — 
Were  black  as  a  funeral  pall ; 


THE  HEAD  AND   THE  HEART. 


Her  robe  had  the  hue  of  the  rest, 
( How  nicely  it  fiited  her  shape  !) 

Aud   the  grief   that  was   heaving  her 

breast 
Boiled  over  in  billows  of  crape  ! 

What  tears  of  vicarious  woe, 

That  else  might  have  sullied  her  face, 
Were  kindly  permitted  to  flow 

In  ripples  of  ebony  lace ! 
While  even  her  fan,  in  its  play, 

Had  quite  a  lugubrious  scope, 
And  seemed  to  be  waving  away 

The  ghost  of  the  angel  of  Hope  ! 

Yet  rich  as  the  robes  of  a  queen 

Was  the  sombre  apparel  she  wore ; 
I  'm  certain  I  never  had  seen 

Such  a  sumptuous  sorrow  before  ; 
And  I  could  n't  help  thinking  the  beauty, 

In  mourning  the  loved  and  the  lost, 
Was  doing  her  conjugal  duty 

Altogether  regardless  of  cost ! 

One  surely  would  say  a  devotion 

Performed  at  so  vast  an  expense 
Betrayed  an  excess  of  emotion 

That  was  really  something  immense; 
And  yet  as  I  viewed,  at  my  leisure, 

Those  tokens  of  tender  regard, 
I  thought :  —  It  is  scarce  without  meas- 
ure— 

The  sorrow  that  goes  by  the  yard  ! 

Ah  !  grief  is  a  curious  passion  ; 

And  yours —  I  am  sorely  afraid 
The  very  next  phase  of  the  fashion 

Will  find  it  beginning  to  fade  ; 
Though  dark  are  the  shadows  of  grief, 

The  morning  will  follow  the  night, 
Half-tints  will  betoken  relief, 

Till  joy  shall  be  symboled  in  white ! 

Ah  well !  it  were  idle  to  quarrel 

With  Fashion,  or  aught  she  may  do ; 
And  so  I  conclude  with  a  moral 

And  metaphor  —  warranted  new:  — 
When  measles  come  handsomely  out, 

The  patient  is  safest,  they  say  ; 
And  the  Sorrow  is  mildest,  no  doubt, 

That  works  in  a  similar  way ! 


THE  EXPECTED   SHIP. 

THUS  I  heard  a  poet  say, 
As  he  sang  in  merry  glee, 


"  Ah  !  't  will  be  a  golden  day, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  I  do  know  a  cottage  fine, 
As  a  poet's  house  should  be, 

And  the  cottage  shall  be  mine. 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  I  do  know  a  maiden  fair, 

Fair,  and  fond,  and  dear  to  me, 

And  we  '11  be  a  wedded  pair, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"And  within  that  cottage  fine, 

Blest  as  any  king  may  be, 
Every  pleasure  shall  be  mine, 

When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! 

"  To  be  rich  is  to  be  great ; 

Love  is  only  for  the  free  ; 
Grant  me  patience,  while  I  wait 

Till  my  ship  comes  o'er  the  sea ! " 

Months  and  years  have  come  and  gone 

Since  the  poet  sang  to  me, 
Yet  he  still  keeps  hoping  on 

For  the  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Thus  the  siren  voice  of  Hope 
Whispers  still  to  you  and  me 

Of  something  in  the  future's  scope, 
Some  golden  ship  from  o'er  the  sea  I 

Never  sailor  yet  hath  found, 
looking  windward  or  to  lee, 

Any  vessel  homeward  bound, 
Like  that  ship  from  o'er  the  sea ! 

Never  comes  the  shining  deck  ; 

But  th-.it  tiny  cloud  may  be  — 
Though  it  seems  the  merest  speck  — 

The   promised   ship  from    o'er  the 
sea ! 

Never  looms  the  swelling  sail, 
But  the  wind  is  blowing  free, 

And  that  mny  be  the  precious  gale 
That  brings  the  ship  from  o'er  the 


THE   HEAD   AND    THE    HEART 

THE  head  is  stately,  calm,  and  wise, 

And  bears  a  princely  part ; 
And  down  below  in  secret  lies 

The  warm,  impulsive  heart. 


10 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MAC  BRIDE. 


The  lordly  head  that  sits  above, 
The  heart  that  beats  below, 

Their  several  office  plainly  prrve, 
Their  true  relation  show. 

The  head,  erect,  serene,  and  cool, 
Endowed  with  Reason's  art, 

Was  set  ?,loft  to  guide  and  rule 
The  throbbing,  wayward  heart. 

And  from  the  head,  as  from  the  higher, 
Comes  every  glorious  thought ; 

And  in  the  heart's  transforming  fire 
All  noble  deeds  are  wrought. 

Yet  each  is  best  when  both  unite 
To  make  the  man  complete  ; 

What  were  the  heat  without  the  light  1 
The  light,  without  the  heat  ? 


THE  PROUD   MISS   MACBRIDE. 


A    LEGEXO   OF    GOTHAM. 


O,    TERRIBLY   proud   was   Miss    Mac- 
Bride, 

The  very  personification  of  Pride, 
As  she  minced  along  in  Fashion's  tide, 
Adown     Broadway,  —  on    the    proper 

side,  — 

When  the  golden  sun  was  setting  ; 
There  was  pride  in  the  head  she  carried 

so  high, 

Pride  in  her  lip,  and  pride  in  her  eye, 
And  a  world  of  pride  in  the  very  sigh 
That  her  stately  bosom  was  fretting ; 


A  sigh  that  a  pair  of  elegant  feet, 
Sandaled    in    satin,     should    kiss    the 

street,  — 

The  very  same  that  the  vulgar  greet 
In  common  leather  not  over  "  neat,"  - 

For  such  is  the  common  booting  ; 
(And  Christian  tears  may  well  be  shed, 
That  even  among  our  gentlemen  bred, 
The  glorious  day  of  Morocco  is  dead, 
And  Day  and  "Martin  are  reigning  in- 
stead, 

On  a  much  inferior  footing !  ) 


O,  terribly  proud  was  Miss  MacBride, 
Proud  of 'her  beauty,  and  proud  of  her 
pride, 


And  proud  of  fifty  matters  beside, 

That  would  n't'have  borne  dissection  ; 
Proud  of    her  wit,  and  proud   of   her 

walk, 
Proud  of  her  teeth,  and  proud  of  her 

talk, 

Proud  of  "  knowing  cheese  from  chalk," 
On  a  very  slight  inspection  ! 

IV. 

Proud  abroad,  and  proud  at  home, 
Proud  wherever  she  chanced  to  come, 
When  she  was  glad,  and  when  she  was 
glum  ; 

Proud  as  the  head  of  a  Saracen 
Over  the  door  of  a  tippling  shop  !  — 
Proud  as  a  duchess,  proud  as  a  fop, 
"  Proud  as  a  boy  with  a  bran-new  top," 

Proud  beyond  comparison ! 


It  seems  a  singular  taing  to  say, 
But  her  very  senses  lea  her  astray 

Respecting  all  humility  ; 
In  sooth,  her  dull  auricular  drum 
Could  find  in  Humble  only  a  "  hum," 
And  heard  no  sound  of  "  gentle  "  come, 

In  talking  about  gentility. 


What  Lowly  meant  she  did  n't  know, 
For  she  always   avoided    "everything 
low," 

With  care  the  most  punctilious, 
And  queerer  still,  the  audible  sound 
Of  "  super-silly  "  she  never  had  found 

In  the  adjective  supercilious ! 


The  meaning  of  Meek  she  never  knew, 
But  imagined  the  phrase  had  something 

to  do 
With  "  Moses,"  —  a  peddling  German 

Jew, 
Who,    like    all    hawkers    the   country 

through, 

Was  a  person  of  no  position  ; 
And  it  seemed  to  her  exceedingly  plain, 
If  the  word  was  really  known  to  pertain 
To   a  vulgar   German,   it  was  n't  ger- 
mane 
To  a  lady  of  high  condition  ! 


Even  her  graces,  —  not  her  grace, 
For  that  was  in  the  ''  vocative  case,"  — 
Chilled  with  the  touch  of  her  icy  face, 
Sat  very  stiffly  upon  her; 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MAC  BRIDE. 


11 


She  never  confessed  a  favor  aloud, 
Like  one  of  the  simple,  common  crowd, 
But  coldly  smiled,  and  faintly  bowed, 
As  who  should  say  :  "  You  do  me  proud, 
And  do  yourself  an  honor  !  " 


And  yet  the  pride  of  Miss  MacBride, 
Although  it  had  fifty  hobbies  to  ride, 

Had  really  no  foundation  ; 
But,  like   the  fabrics  that  gossips  de- 

vise, — 

Those  single  stories  that  often  arise 
And  grow  till  they  reach  a  four-  story 

size, 
Was  merely  a  fancy  creation  ! 


'T  is  a  curious  fact  as  ever  was  known 
In  human  nature,  but  often  shown 

Alike  in  castle  and  cottage, 
That  pride,  like  pigs  of  a  certain  breed, 
Will   manage   to  live    and   thrive    on 
"  feed  " 

As  poor  as  a  pauper's  pottage  ! 


That  her  wit  should  never  have  made 

her  vain, 
Was,  like  her  face,  sufficiently  plain; 

And  as  to  her  musical  powers, 
Although  she  sang  until  she  was  hoarse, 
And  issued  notes  with  a  Banker's  force, 
They  were  just  such  notes  as  we  never 

indorse 
For  any  acquaintance  of  ours  ! 


Her    birth,    indeed,    was    uncommonly 

high. 

For  Miss  MacBride  first  opened  her  eye 
Through  a  skylight  dim,  on  the  light  of 

the  skv"; 

But  pride  is  a  curious  passion, 
And  in  talking  about  her  wealth  and 

worth 

She  always  forgot  to  mention  her  birrh, 
To  people  of  rank  and  fashion  ! 

XIII. 

Of  all  the  notable  things  on  earth, 
The  queerest  one  is  pride  of  birth, 

Among  onr  "  fierce  Democracie  " ! 
A  bridge  across  a  hundred  years, 
Without  a  prop  to  save  it  from  sneers,  — 
Not  even  a  couple  of  rotten  Peers, — 
A  thing  for  laughter,  fleers,  and  jeers, 

Is  American  aristocracy  ! 


English  and  Irish,  French  and  Spanish, 
German,  Italian,  Dutch,  and  Danish, 
Crossing  their  veins  until  they  vanish 

In  one  conglomeration  ! 
So  subtle  a  tangle  of  Blood,  indeed, 
No  modern  Harvey  will  ever  succeed 

In  finding  the  circulation  ! 


Depend  upon  it,  my  snobbish  friend, 
Your  family  thread  you  can't  ascend, 
Without  good  reason  to  apprehend 
You  mav  find  it  waxed  at  the  farther 
end 

By  some  plebeian  vocation  ; 
Or,  worse  than  that,  your  boasted  Line 
May  end  in  a  loop  of  stronger  twine, 

That  plagued  some  worthy  relation  ! 


But  Miss  MacBride  had  something  be- 
side 

Her  lofty  birth  to  nourish  her  pride  ; 

For  rich  was  the  old  paternal  MacBride, 
According  to  public  rumor ; 

And  he  lived  "  Up  Town,"  in  a  splendid 
square, 

And  kept  his  daughter  on  dainty  fare, 

And  gave  her  gems  that  were  rich  and 
rare, 

And  the  finest  rings  and  things  to  wear, 
And  feathers  enough  to  plume  her ! 


An   honest  mechanic  was   John  Mac- 
Bride 
As  ever  an  honest  calling  plied, 

Or  graced  an  honest  ditty  ; 
For  John  had  worked,  in  his  early  day, 
In  "  Pots  and  Pearls,"  the  legends  say, 
And  kept  a  shop  with  a  rich  array 
Of  things  in  the  soap  and  candle"  way, 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  city. 


No  rara  avis  was  honest  John 

(That 's  the  Latin  for  "  sable  swan  "}, 

Though,  in  one  of  his  fancy  flashes, 
A  wicked  wag,  who  meant  to  deride, 
Called  honest  John  "  Old  Phoenix  Mae 
Bride, 

Because  he  rose  from  his  ashes  !  " 

XIX. 

Alack  !  for  many  ambitious  beaux  ! 
She  hung  their  hopes  upon  her  nose, 


12 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MAC  BRIDE. 


(The  figure  is  quite  Horatian  !)* 
Until  from  habit  the  member  grew 
As  queer  a  thing  as  ever  you  knew 

Turn  up  to  ol>servation  ! 

xx. 

A  thriving  tailor  begged  her  hand, 
But  she  gave   "the  fellow"  to  under- 

staud, 

By  a  violent  manual  action, 
She"  perfectly  scorued   the   best  of  his 

clan, 

And  reckoned  the  ninth  of  any  man 
An  exceedingly  Vulgar  Fraction  ! 


Another,  whose  sign  was  a  golden  boot, 
Was  mortified  with  a  bootless  suit, 

In  a  way  that  was  quite  appalling ; 
For  though  a  regular  sutor  by  trade, 
He  was  n't  a  suitor  to  suit  the  maid, 
Who  cut  him  off  with  a  saw,  —  and  bade 

"  The  cobbler  keep  to  his  calling." 


(The  Muse  must  let  a  secret  out,  — 
There  is  n't  the  faintest  shadow  of  doubt 
That  folks  who  oftenest  sneer  and  flout 

At  "  the  dirty,  low  mechanicals," 
Are  they  whose  sires,  by  pounding  their 

knees, 

Or  coiling  their  legs,  or  trades  like  these, 
Contrived  to  win  their  children  ease 

From  poverty's  galling  manacles.) 

XXIII. 

A  rich  tobacconist  comes  nnd  snes, 
And,  thinking  the   lady  would   scarce 

refuse 

A  man  of  his  wealth  and  liberal  views, 
Be<ran,  at  once,  with,  "  If  you  choose, — 

And  could  you  really  love  him  "  — 
But  the   lady  spoiled  his  speech  in  a 

huff, 
With    an    answer    rough    and    ready 

enough, 

To  let  him  know  she  was  up  to  snuff, 
And  altogether  above  him  ! 

XXIV. 

A  young  attorney  of  winning  grace 
Was  scarce  allowed  to  "open  his  face," 
Ere  Miss  Mac  Bride  had  closed  his  case 

With  true  judicial  celerity  ; 
For  the  lawver  was  poor,  and  "  seedy  " 
to  boot, 

•  "  Omnia  suspendens  naso." 


And  to  say  the  lady  discarded  his  suit, 
Is  merely  a  double  verity. 

XXV. 

The  last  of  those  who  came  to  court 
Was  a  lively  beau  of  the  dapper  sort, 
"  Without  any   visible    means  of   sup 
port,"  — 

A  cnme  by  no  means  flagrant 
In  one  who  wears  an  elegant  coat, 
But  the  very  point  on  which  they  vote 

A  ragged  fellow  "  a  vagrant."' 


A  courtly  fellow  was  Dapper  Jim, 
Sleek  and  supple,  and  tall  and  trim, 
And  smooth  of  tongue  as  neat  of  limb ; 

And,  maugre  his  meagre  pocket. 
You  'd  say,  from  the  glittering  tales  he 

told, 
That  Jim  had  slept  in  a  cradle  of  gold, 

With  Fortunatus  to  rock  it ! 

XXVII. 

Now  Dapper  Jim  his  courtship  plied 
(I  wish  the  fact  could  be  denied) 
With  an  eye  to  the  purse  of  the  old 
MacBride, 

And  really  "nothing  shorter"  ! 
For  he  said  to  himself,  in  his  greedy  lust, 
"  Whenever  he  dies,  —  as  die  he  must,  — 
And  yields  to  Heaven  his  vital  trust, 
He  's  very  sure  to  '  come  down  with  his 
dust,'  — 

In  behalf  of  his  only  daughter." 

XXVIII. 

And  the  very  magnificent  Miss  Mac- 

Biide, 
Half  in  love  and  half  in  pride, 

Quite  graciously  relented ; 
And  tossing  her  head,  and  turning  her 

back, 

No  token  of  proper  pride  to  lack, 
To  be  a  Bride  without  the  "  Mac," 
With  much  disdain,  consented. 


Alas  !  that  people  who  've  got  their  box 
Of  cash  beneath  the  best  oflocks, 
Secure  from  all  financial  shocks, 
Should    stock  their  fancy   with   fancv 

stocks, 
And   madly    rush    upon    Wall    Street 

rocks, 

Without  the  least  apology  ; 
Alas!  that  people  whose  money  affairs 
Are  sound  beyond  all  need  of  repairs, 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 


18 


Should  ever  tempt  the  bulls  and  bears 
Of  Mammon's  fierce  Zoology  ! 

XXX. 

Old  John  MacBride,  one  fatal  day, 
Became  the  unresisting  prey 

Of  Fortune's  undertakers ; 
And  staking  his  all  on  a  single  die, 
His  foundered  bark  went  high  and  dry 

Among  the  brokers  and  breakers  ! 

XXXI. 

At  his  trade  again  in  the  very  shop 
Where,  years  before,  he  let  it  drop, 

He  follows  hi.s  ancient  calling, — 
Cheerily,  too,  in  poverty's  spite, 
And  sleeping  quite  as  sound  at  night, 
As  when,  at  Fortune's  giddy  height, 
He  used  to  wake  with  a  dizzy  fright 

From  a  dismal  dream  of  falling. 

XXXII. 

But  alas  for   the  haughty  Miss   Mac- 
Bride  ! 

'T  was  such  a  shock  to  her  precious 
pride, 

She  could  n't  recover,  although  she  tried 
Her  jaded  spirits  to  rally; 

'T  was   a  dreadful  change   in  human 
affairs 

From  a  Place  "  Up  Town  "  to  a  nook 

"  Up  Stairs," 
From  an  Avenue  down  to  an  Alley ! 

XXXIII. 

'T  was  little  condolence  she  had,  God 

wot, 
From    her   "troops   of    friends,"    who 

had  n't  forgot 

The  airs  she  used  to  borrow  ; 
They   had   civil   phrases  enough,   but 

yet 
'T  was  plain  to  see  that  their  "  deepest 

regret " 
Was  a  different  thing  from  Sorrow  ! 

XXXIV. 

They  owned  it  could  n't  have  well  been 
worse, 

To  go  from  a  full  to  an  empty  purse ;      I 

To  expect  a  reversion  and  get  a  "  re- 
verse," 
Was  truly  a  dismal  feature  ; 

But    it   was  n't   strange,  —  they   whis- 
pered, —  at  all ; 

That  the  Rummer  of  pride  should  have 

its  Fall 
Was  quite  according  to  Nature  ! 


XXXV. 

And  one  of  those  chaps  who  make  a 

pun  — 

As  if  it  were  quite  legitimate  fun 
To  be  blazing  away  at  every  one, 
With  a  regular  double-loaded  gun  — 

Remarked  that    moral    transgres- 
sion 

Always  brings  retributive  stings 
To  candle- makers,  as  well  as  kings ! 
And  making  light  of  cereous  things 

Was  a  very  wick-ed  profession  ! 


And  vulgar  people,  the  saucy  churls. 
Inquired  about  "  the  price  of  Pearls," 

And  mocked  at  her  situation ; 
"  She  was  n't  ruined,  they  ventured  to 

hope ; 
Because    she   was   poor,    she    need  n't 

mope,  — 

Few  people  were  better  off  for  soap, 
And  that  was  a  consolation ! " 

XXXVII. 

And    to    make    her    cup  of  woe  run 

over, 
Her  elegant,  ardent,  plighted  lover 

Was  the  very  first  to  forsake  her; 
He    quite    regretted    the    step,    't  was 

true,  — 

The  lady  had  pride  enough  for  two. 
But  that  alone  would  never  do 
To  quiet  the  butcher  and  baker  ! 


And  now  the  unhappy  Miss  MacBride, 
The  merest  ghost  of  her  early  pride, 

Bewails  her  lonely  position  ; 
Cramped  in  the  very  narrowest  niche, 
Above  the  poor,  and  below  the  rich, 

Was  ever  a  worse  condition  ? 

MORAL. 

Because  you  nourish  in  worldly  affairs. 
Don't  be  haughty,  and  put  on  airs, 

With  insolent  pride  of  station  ! 
Don't    be    proud,   and   turn    up   your 

nose 

At  poorer  people  in  plainer  clo'es, 
But  learn,  for  the  sake  of  your  soul's 

repose, 
That  wealth  's  a  bubble,  that  comes,  — 

and  goes ! 
And  that  all  Proud  Flesh,  wherever  it 

grows, 
Is  subject  to  irritation  ! 


14 


THE  MASQUERADE. 


THE  MASQUERADE. 

,     TJT*   €K\€\pf    VQQV    TTVKO.    TTtfp 


HOM.  II.,  xiv.  217. 
I. 

COUNT  FELIX  was  a  man  of  worth 

By  Fashion's  strictest  definition, 

For  he  had  money,  manners,  birth, 

And  that  most  slippery  thing  on  earth 

Which  social  critics  call  position. 


And  yet  the  Count  was  seldom  gay  ; 

The  rich  and  noble  have  their  crosses ; 
And  he  —  as  he  was  wont  to  say  — 
Had  seen  some  trouble  in  his  day, 

And  met  with  several  serious  losses. 


Among  the  rest,  he  lost  his  wife, 

A  very  model  of  a  woman, 
With  every  needed  virtue  rife 
To  lead  a  spouse  a  happy  life,  — 

Such  wives  (in  France)  are  not  un- 
common. 


The  lady  died,  and  left  him  sad 
And  "lone,    to    mourn    the    best    of 

spouses  ; 

She  left  him  also  —  let  me  add  — 
One  child,  and  all  the  wealth  she  had, — 
The  rent  of  half  a  dozen  houses. 


I  cnnnot  tarry  to  discuss 

The  weeping  husband's  desolation  ; 
Upon  her  tomb  he  wrote  it  thus :  — 
"  FELIX  infdicissimus  !  " 

In  very  touching  ostentation. 


Indeed,  the  Count's  behavior  earned 

The  plaudits  of  his  strict  confessor; 
His  weeds  of  woe  had  fairly  turned 
From  black  to  brown,  ere  he  had  learned 
To  think  about  his  wife's  successor. 


And  then,  indeed,  't  was  but  a  thought ; 

A  sort  of  sentimental  dreaming, 
That   came   at    times,   and   came  —  to 

naught, 

With  all  the  plans  so  nicely  wrought 
By    matrons    skilled     in     marriage- 
scheming. 


At  last,  when  many  years  had  fled, 
And  Father  Time,  the  great  physi 

cian, 

Had  soothed  his  sorrow  for  the  dead. 
Count  Felix  took  it  in  his  head 

To  change  his  wearisome  condition. 


You  think,  perhaps,  't  was  quickly  done ; 

The  Count  was  still  a  man  of  fashion ; 
Wealth,  title,  talents,  all  in  one, 
Were  eloquence  to  win  a  nun, 

If  nuns  could  feel  a  worldly  passion. 


And  yet  the  Count  might  well  despond 

Of  tying  soon  the  silken  tether ; 
Wise,  witty,  handsome,  faithful,  fond, 
And  twenty  —  not  a  year  beyond  — 
Are  charming,  —  when  they  come  to- 
gether ! 


But  more  than  that,  the  man  required 
A  wife  to  share  his  whims  and  fan- 
cies; 

Admire  alone  what  he  admired  ; 

Desire,  of  course,  as  he  desired,' 
And  show  it  in  her  very  glances. 


Long,  long  the  would-be  wooer  tried 
To  find  his  precious  ultimatum,  — 

All  earthly  charms  in  one  fair  bride  ; 

But  still  in  vain  he  sought  and  sighed  ; 
He  could  n't  manage  to  get  at  'em. 

XIII. 

In  sooth,  the  Count  was  one  of  those 

Who,  seeking  something  superhuman, 
Find  not  the  angel  they  would  choose, 
And  —  what  is  more  unlucky  —  lose 
Their    chance    to   wed    a    charming 
woman. 

XIV. 

The  best-matched  doves  in  Hymen's  cage 
Were  paired  in  youth's  romantic  sea 
son ; 

Laugh  as  you  will  at  passion's  rage, 

The  most  unreasonable  age 
Is  what  is  called  the  age  of  reason. 


In  love-affairs,  we  nil  have  seen, 
The  heart  is  oft  the  best  adviser ; 


THE  MASQUERADE. 


15 


The    gray    might    well    consult    the 

"green," 

Cool  sixty  learn  of  rash  sixteen, 
And  go  away  a  deal  the  wiser. 

XVI. 

The  Count's  hi.irh  hopes  began  to  fade ; 

His  plans  were  not  at  all  advancing  ; 
When,  lo  !  —  one  day  his  valet  made 
Some  mention  of  a  masquerade,  — 

"I'll  go,"  said  he,  —  "and  see  the 
dancing. 

XVII. 

"  'T  will  serve  my  spirits  to  arouse  ; 

And,    faith  !    I  'm    getting    melan- 
choly. 

'T  is  not  the  place  to  seek  a  spouse, 
Where  people  go  to  break  their  vows,  — 

But  then  't  will  be  extremely  jolly  ! " 

XVIII. 

Count  Felix  found  the  crowd  immense, 

And,  had  he  been  a  censor  worum, 
He  might  have  said,  without  offense, 
"  Got  up  regardless  of  expense, 
And  some  —  regardless  of  decorum. 


"Faith!— all  the   world   is  here    to- 
night ! " 

"  Nay,"  said  a  merry  friend  demure- 
ly, 
M  Not  quite  the  whole,  — pardon !  —  not 

quite  ; 

Le  Demi-Monde  were  nearer  right, 
And  no  exaggeration,  surely  !  " 


The  revelry  ('t  was  just  begun) 

A  stoic  might  have  found  diverting  ; 
That  is.  of  course,  if  he  was  one 
Who  liked  to  see  a  hit  of  fun, 
And  fancied  persiflage  and  flirting. 


But  who  enn  paint  that  giddy  maze  ? 

Go  find  the  lucky  man  who  handles 
A  brush  to  catch,  on  gala-days, 
The  whirling,  shooting,  flashing  rays 

Of  Catherine-wheels  and  Roman  can- 
dles! 


All  sorts  of  masks  that  e'er  were  seen  ; 

Fantastic,  comic,  and  satanic  ; 
Dukes,    dwarfs,     and     "  Highnesses " 
(Serene), 


And    {that  's  of   course)   the  Cyprian 

Queen, 
In  gauzes  few  and  diaphanic. 

XXIII. 

Lean  Carmelites,  fat  Capuchins, 

Giants  half  human  and  half  bestial  ; 
Kings,  Queens,  Magicians,  Harlequins, 
Greeks,  Tartars,  Turks,  and  Manda 

rins 
More  diabolic  than  "  Celestial." 


Fair  Scripture  dames,  —  Naomi,  Ruth, 
And  Hagar,  looking  quite  demented ; 
The  Virtues  (all  — excepting  Truth) 
And  Magdalens,  who  were  in  sooth 
Just  half  of  what  they  represented  ! 

XXV. 

Fates,  Furies,  Fairies,  —  all  the  best 

And  worst  of  Fancy's  weird  creation ; 
Psyche  and  Cupid  (demi-dressed) 
With  several  Vestals  —  by  request, 
And  solely  for  that  one  occasion. 


And  one,  among  the  motley  brood, 
He  saw,   who   shunned    the   wanton 

dances ; 

A  sort  of  dcmi-nun,  who  stood 
In  ringlets  flashing  from  a  hood, 

And  seemed  to  seek  our  hero's  glancea 

XXVII. 

The  Count,  delighted  with  her  air, 
Drew    near,    the    better    to   behold 

her; 

Her  form  was  slight,  her  skin  was  fair, 
And  maidenhood,  you  well  might  swear, 
Breathed   from '  the   dimples  in    her 
shoulder. 

XXVIII. 

He  spoke ;  she  answered  with  a  grace 
That    showed    the    girl    no    vulgai 

heiress ; 

And,  —  if  the  features  one  may  trace 
In  voices,  —  hers  betrayed  a  face 
The  finest  to  be  found  in  Paris ! 

XXIX. 

And  then  such  wit !  —  in  repartee 
She  shone  without  the  least  endeav 
or; 

A  beauty  and  a  bel-esprit ! 

A  scholar,  too,  —  't  was  plain  to  see. 
Who  ever  saw  a  girl  so  clever  ? 


THE  MASQUERADE, 


XXX. 

Her  taste  he  ventured  to  explore 

In  books,  the  graver  aud  the  lighter, 

And  mentioned  authors  by  the  score ; 

Mon  Dieu  !  in  every  sort  of  lore 

She  always   chose  his  favorite  writ- 
er! 

XXXI. 

She  loved  the  poets ;  but  cojfessed 
Racine  beat  all  the  others  hollow  ; 

At  least,  she  thought  his  style  the  best  — 

(Racine  !  his  literary  test! 
Racine!  his  Maximus  Apollo!) 

XXXII. 

Whatever  topic  he  might  name, 

Their  minds    were    strangely    sym- 
pathetic ; 

Of  courtship,  marriage,  fashion,  fame, 
Their    views    and    feelings    were    the 

same,  — 

"  Parbleu  !  "  he  cried,  "  it  looks  pro- 
phetic ! 


"  Come,  let  us  seek  an  ampler  space ; 
This   heated   room  —  I  can't   abide 

it! 

That  mask,  I  'm  sure,  is  out  of  place, 
And  hides  the  fairest,  sweetest  face  "  — 
Said  she,  "  I  wear  the  mask  to  hide 
it!" 


The  answer  was  extremely  pat, 
And  gave  the  Count  a  deal  of  pleas- 
ure : 

"  (Test  vrai !  I  did  not  think  of  that ! 

Come,  let  us  go  where  we  can  chat 
And  eat  (I  'm  hungry)  at  our  leisure." 

XXXV. 

"  I  'm  hungry   too  !  "  she   said,  —  and 
went, 

Without  the  least  attempt  to  cozen, — 
Like  ladies  who  refuse,  relent, 
Debate,  op)>o>e,  and  then  consent 

To  —  eat  enough  for  half  a  dozen  ! 

XXXVI. 

And  so  they  sat  them  down  to  dine, 

Solus  cum  sola,  gay  aud  merry  ; 
The  Count  inquires  the  sort  of  wine 
To  which  his  charmer  may  incline  ; 
Ah  !    qnelle  intrceille  !    she  answers, 
"  bherry ! " 


XXXVII. 

What  will  she  eat  ?  She  takes  the  carte, 
And  notes  the  viands  that  she  wishes ; 

"  Pardon,   Monsieur !  what  makes  you 
start  ?  " 

As  if  she  knew  his  tastes  by  heart. 
The  lady  named  his  favorite  dishes  ! 

XXXVIII. 

Was  e'er  such  sympathy  before  ? 

The  Count  was  really  half  demented  ; 
He  kissed  her  hand,  and  roundly  swore 
He  loved  her  perfectly  !  —  and,  more,  — 

He  'd  wed  her — "if  the  gods  con- 
sented ! 

XXXIX. 

"  Monsieur  is  very  kind,"  she  said, 
"  His  love  so  lavishly  bestowing 
On  one  who  never  thought  to  wed,  — 
And    least   of    all "  —  she    raised    her 

head  — 

"'T  is  late,  Sir  Knight,  I  must  be 
going  1 " 

Count    Felix    sighed, — and   while   he 

drew 

Her  shawl  about  her,  at  his  leisure, 
"  What  street  1 "  he  asked  ;  "  my  cab  is 

due." 

"  No,  no !  "  she  said,  "  I  go  with  you .' 
That  is  —  if  it  may  be  your  pleasure." 


Of  course,  there 's  little  need  to  say 

The  Count  delighted  in  her  capture; 
Away  he  drove,  and  all  the  way 
He  murmured,  "  Qnel/e  /elicite"!  " 
In  very  ecstasy  of  rapture  ! 


Arrived  at  home — just  where  a  fount 
Shot  forth  a  jet  of  lucent  water  — 

He  helped  the  lady  to  dismount; 

She  drops  her  mask,  and  lo  !  the  Count 
Sees  —  Dieu    de    del  !  —  his    only 
daughter ! 


"  Good  night !  "  she  said,  —  "  I  'm  very 

well, 
Although  you  thought  my  health  was 

fading ; 

Be  good  —  and  I  will  never  tell 
('T  was  funny  though)  of  what  befell 
When  you  and   I  went  masquerad- 
ing"! " 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 


17 


MY  FAMILIAR. 

Ecce  iterum  Crispinus  '.  " 


AGAIN  I  hear  that  creaking  step  !  — 

He  's  rapping  at  the  door  !  — 
Too  well  I  know  the  boding  sound 

That  ushers  in  a  bore. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the  friend 

Who  comes  —  but  never  goes ! 


He  drops  into  my  easy-chair, 

And  asks  about  the  news  ; 
He  peers  into  my  manuscript, 

And  gives  his  candid  views  ; 
He  tells  me  where  he  likes  the  line, 

And  where  he  's  forced  to  grieve ; 
He  takes  the  strangest  liberties, — 

But  never  takes  his  leave  ! 


my  daily  ] taper  thi 
I  've  seen  a  word; 


through 


He  reads  mi 

Before 
He  scans  the  lyric  (that  I  wrote) 

And  thinks  it  quite  absurd  ; 
lie  calmly  smokes  my  List  cigar, 

And  coolly  asks  for  more ; 
He  opens  everything  he  sees  — 

Except  the  entry  door  ! 


He  talks  about  his  fragile  health, 

And  tolls  me  of  the  pains 
He  suffers  from  a  score  of  ills 

Of  which  he  ne'er  complains; 
And  how  he  struggled  once  with  death 

To  keep  the  fiend  at  bay ; 
On  themes  like  those  away 

But  never  goes  away  ! 


He  tells  me  of  the  carping  words 

Some  shallow  critic,  wrote ; 
And  every  precious  paragraph 

Familiarly  can  quote  ; 
He  thinks  the  writer  did  me  wrong; 

He  'd  like  to  run  him  through ! 
He  says  a  thousand  pleasant  things, — 

But  never  says,  "  Adieu.'  " 


Whene'er   he   comes,  —  that    dreadful 

man,  — 

Disguise  it  as  I  mav, 
2" 


I  know  that,  like  an  Autumn  rail 
He  '11  last  throughout  the  day. 

In  vain  I  speak  of  urgent  tasks ; 
In  vain  I  scowl  and  pout ; 

A  frown  is  no  extinguisher, — 
It  does  not  put  him  out ! 


I  mean  to  take  the  knocker  off, 

Put  crape  upon  the  door, 
Or  hint  to  John  that  I  am  gone 

To  stay  a  month  or  more. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the  friend 

Who  never,  never  goes ! 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 


A    LEGEND    OF    BOSTON. 


JACK  NEWMAN  was  in  love ;  a  common 

With  boys  just  verging  upon  maft- 

hood''s  prime, 

When  every  damsel  with  a  prettv  face 
Seems  some  bright  creature  from  a 

purer  clime, 
Sent  by  the  gods  to  bless  a  country 

town,    - 

A   pink-cheeked    angel    in    a    muslin, 
gown. 


Jack   was  in  love ;   and  also  much  »t 

doubt 
(As  thoughtful  lovers  of*  have  been 

before ) 
If  it  were  better  to  be  in  or  out. 

Such    pain    alloyed    his    bliss.      OTI 

reason's  score, 

Perhaps  't  is  equally  a  sin  to  get 
Too  deep  in  love,  iii  liquor,  or  in  debt. 


The  lady  of  his  love,  Miss  Mary  Blank 

(I  cali  her  so  to  hide  her  renl  name). 

Was  fair    and    twentv,  and   in    social 

rank  — 
That  is,  in  riches  —  much  above  her 

flame  ; 
The   daughter  of  a  person  who  had 

Already  won;  while   Jack  had  his  to 
win. 


18 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 


IV. 

Her  father  was  a  lawyer  ;  rather  rusty 
In  legal  lore,  but  one  who  well  had 

striven 

In  former  days  to  swell  his  "res  angustce  " 
To  broad  possessions ;  and,  in  short, 

had  thriven 
Bravely  in   his  vocation ;  though,  the 

fact  is, 
More  by  his  "practices"  ('twas  said) 

than  practice! 


A  famon<*  man  was  Blank  for  sound 

advice 
In    doubtful    cases ;    for    example, 

where 

The  point  in  question  is  extremely  nice, 

And  turns  upon  the  section  of  a  hair ; 

Or  where  —  which  seems  a  very  common 

pother  — 
Justice  looks  one  way,  and    the   Law 

another. 


Great  was  his  skill  to  make  or  mar  a 

plot : 

To  prop,  at  need,  a  rotten  reputation, 
Or  undermine  a  good  one  ;  he  had  got 

By  heart  the  subtle  science  of  evasion, 
And  knew  the  useful  nrt  to  pick  a  flaw 
Through  which  a  rascal  might  escape 
the  law. 


Jack   was   his  pupil ;  and    't  is    rnther 

queer 

So  shrewd  a  counselor  did  not   dis- 
cover, 

With  all  his  cunning  both  of  eye  and  ear, 
That  this  same  pupil  was  his  daugh- 
ter's lover ; 

And  —  what  would  much  have  shocked 
his  legal  tutor  — 

Was  even  now  the  girl's  accepted  suitor! 


Fearing  a  non-suit,  if  the  lawyer  knew 
The  case  too  soon,  Jack  kept  it  to 
himself ; 

And,  stranger  still,  the  lady  kept  it  too ; 
For  well  he  knew  the  father's  pride 
of  pelf, 

Should  e'en  a  bare  suspicion  cross  his 
mind, 

Would  soon  abate  the  action  they  de- 
signed. 


For  Jack  was  impecunious ;  and  Blank 
Had   small   regard   for    people   who 
were  poor ; 

Riches  to  him  were  beauty,  grace,  and 

rank  : 

In  short,  the  man  was  one  of  many 
more 

Who  worship   money-bags    and    those 
who  own  'em, 

And  think  a  handsome  sum  the  sum- 
mum  bonum. 


I  'm  fond  of  civil  words,  and  do  not  wish 

To  be  satirical ;  but  none  despise 
The  poor  so  truly  as  the  noureaux  riche ; 
And  here,  no  doubt,  the  real  reason 

lies, 

That  being  over-proud  of  what  they  are, 
They  're  naturally  ashamed    of    what 
they  were. 


Certain  to  meet  the  father's  cold  nega- 
tion, 

Jack  dare  not  ask  him  for  his  daugh- 
ter's hand. 

What  should  he  do  ?    'T  was  surely  an 

occasion 

For  all  the  wit  a  lover  might  com- 
mand ; 

At  last  he  chose  (it  seemed  his  only  hope) 

That  final  card  of  Cupid,  —  to  elope  ! 


A  pretty  plan  to  please  a  penny-a-liner ; 
But  far  less  pleasant  for  the  leading 
factor, 

Should  the  fair  maiden  chance  to  be  a 

minor 

(Whom  the  law  reckons  an  unwilling 
actor) ; 

And  here  Jack  found  a  rather  sad  ob- 
struction, — 

He  might  be  caught  and  punished  foi 
abduction. 


What  could  he  do  ?    Well,  —  here    is 

what  he  did : 
As  a  "  moot-case  "  to  Lawyer  Blank 

he  told 
The  whole  affair,  save  that  the  names 

were  hid. 

I  can't  help  thinking  it  was  rather 
bold, 


RHYME  OF  THE  RAIL. 


19 


.Jut  Love  is  partial  to  heroic  schemes, 
Ami  often  proves  much  wiser  than  he 


XIV. 

"  The  thing  is  safe  enough,  with  proper 

care," 
Observed  the  lawyer, smiling.  "Here  's 

your  course :  — 

Ju  t  let  the  lady  manage  the  affair 
Throughout;  Videlicet,  she  gets  the 

horse, 
And  mounts  him,  un assisted, first;  but 

mind, 
The  woman  sits  before,  and  you,  behind ! 

xv. 

"Then  who  is   the    abductor? — Just 

suppose 

A  court  and  jury  looking  at  the  case; 
What  ground  of  action  do  the  facts  dis- 
close f 
They  find  a  horse,  —  two  riders,  — 

and  a  race,  — 
And  you  '  Not  guilty ';  for  'tis  clearly 

"  true 

The    dashing   damsel   ran    away   with 
you !" 

XVI. 


These  social  sins  are  often  rather  grave : 
I  give  such  deeds  no  countenance  of 
mine; 

Nor  can  1  say  the  father  e'er  forgave ; 
But   that   was    surely    a    propitious 
"  sign," 

On  which  (in  after  years)  the  words  I 
saw 

Were,  "  BLANK  AND  NEWMAN,  COUN- 
SELORS AT  LAW!" 


RHYME   OF   THE   RAIL. 

SINGING  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Humbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, — 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail  ! 

Men  of  different  "  stations  ' 
In  the  eye  of  Fame 


Here  are  very  quickly 
Coming  to"  the  same. 

High  and  lowly  people, 
Birds  of  every  feather, 

On  a  common  level 
Traveling  together ! 

Gentleman  in  shorts, 

Looming  very  tall; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien ; 
Gentleman  in  gray, 

Looking  rather  green. 

Gentleman  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news ; 
Gentleman  in  black, 

In  a  fit  of  blues  ; 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar ; 
Gentleman  in  Tweed, 

Dreadfully  in  liquor ! 

Stranger  on  the  right, 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviouslv  reading 

Something  rather  funny. 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker, 
Wonder  what  they  mean  ? 

Faith  he  's  got  the  KNICKER- 
BOCKER Magazine  ! 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers; 
Now  he  snores  amain, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation, 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  "  Association  "  ! 

Ancient  maiden  lady 

Anxiously  remarks, 
That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks ! 
Roguish-looking  fellow, 

Turning  to  the  stranger, 
Says  it 's  his  opinion 

'She  is  out  of  danger ! 

Woman  with  her  baby, 

Sitting  vis  a-vis  ; 
Baby  keeps  a  squalling ; 

Woman  looks  at  me ; 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it 's  tiresome  talking, 


20 


LITTLE  JERRY  THE  MILLER, 


Noises  of  the  cars 

Are  so  very  shoe-king  ! 

Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket; 
Feeling  that  a  smash, 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rati ling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  biidges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains. 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale,  — 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail ! 


THE   BRIEFLESS   BARRISTER. 


A    BALLAD. 

AN  Attorney  was  taking  a  turn, 
In  shabby  habiliments  drest  ; 

His  coat  it  was  shocking!/  worn, 
And  the  rust  had  invested  his  vest 

His  breeches  had  suffered  a  breach, 
His  linen  and  worsted  were  worse  ; 

He   had  scarce  a  whole   crown   in  his 

hat, 
And  not  half  a  crown  in  his  purse. 

And  thus  as  he  wandered  along, 
A  cheerless  and  comfortless  elf, 

He  sought  for  relief  in  a  song, 

Or    complainingly    talked   to    him- 
self:— 

"  Unfortunate  man  that  I  am  ! 

I  've  never  a  client  but  grief  : 
The  ease  is,  I  've  no  case  at  all, 

And  in  brief,  I  've  ne'er  had  a  brief  ! 

"  I  've  waited  and  waited  in  vain, 
Expecting  an  '  opening  '  to  find, 

Where  an  honest  young  lawyer  might 

gain 
Some  reward  for  toil  of  his  mind. 

*  '  T  is  not  that  I  'm  wanting  in  law, 
Or  lack  an  intelligent  face, 


That  others  have  cases  to  plead, 
While  I  have  to  plead  for  a  case. 

"  O,  how  can  a  modest  young  man 
E'er  hope  for  the  smallest  progres- 
sion, — 

The  profession  's  already  so  full 
Of  lawyers  so  full  of  profession  ! " 

While  thus  he  was  strolling  around, 

His  eye  accidentally  fell 
On  a  very  deep  hole  in  the  ground, 

And    he   sighed    to    himself,    "  It  is 
well ! " 

To  curb  his  emotions,  he  sat 
On  the  curbstone  the  space  of  a  min- 
ute, 
Then    cried,   "Here's    an    opening   at 

last ! " 
And  in  less  than  a  jiffy  was  in  it! 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came 
('Twas  the   coroner   bade   them   at- 
tend ), 

To  the  end  that  it  might  be  determined 
How  the  man  had  determined  his  end  ! 

"  The  man  was  a  lawyer,  I  hear," 
Quoth  the  foreman  who  sat  on  the 
corse. 

"  A  lawyer  ?     Alas !  "  said  another, 
"  Undoubtedly  died  of  remorse ! " 

A  third  said,  "  He  knew  the  deceased, 
An  attorney  well  versed  in  the  laws, 

And  as  to  the  cause  of  his  death, 

'Twas  no  doubt  for    the  want  of  a 


The  jury  decided  at  length, 

After  solemnly  weighing  the  matter, 
That  the  lawyer  was  drown ded,  because 

He  could  not  keep  his  head  above  wa- 
ter ! 


LITTLE  JERRY  THE  MILLER* 

A    BALLAD. 

BENEATH  the  hill  you  may  see  the  mill 
Of    wasting    wood     and     crumbling 
stone  ; 

*  Perhaps  it  may  add  a  trifle  to  the  interest 
of  this  ballad  to  know  that  the  description, 
both  of  the  man  and  the  mill,  is  quite  true 


'•  Beneath  the  hill  there  stands  the  mill."     Page  21. 


no  W  CYRUS  LAID   THE   CABLE. 


21 


I>«   wheel  is   dripping  and   clattering 

still, 

But  JERKY,  the  miller,  is  dead  and 
gone. 

Year  after  year,  early  and  late, 
Alike  in  summer  and  winter  weather, 

He  peeked  the  stones  and  calked  the 

gate, 
And  mill  and  miller  grew  old  together. 

"  Little  Jerry  !  "  — 't  was  all  the  same, — 
They  loved  him  well  who  called  him 
so  ; 

And  whether  he  'd  ever  another  name, 
Nobody  ever  seemed  to  know. 

'T  was,    "  Little  Jerry,  come  grind  my 

rye"; 
And,   "  Little  Jerry,  come  grind  my 

wheat "  ; 

And  "  Little  Jerry  "  was  still  the  cry, 
From  matron  bold  and  maiden  sweet. 

'T  was  "  Little  Jerry  "  on  every  tongue, 
And  so  the  simple  truth  was  told ; 

For  Jerry  w<is  little  when  he  was  young, 
And  Jerry  was  little  when  he  was  old. 

Cut  what  in  size  he  chanced  to  lack, 

That  Jerry  made  up  in  being  strong  ; 
I  've  seen  a  sack  upon  his  back 

As  thick  as  the  miller,  and  quite  as 

long- 
Always  busy,  and  always  merry, 

Always  doing  his  very  best, 
A  notable  wag  was  Little  Jerry, 

Who  uttered  well  his  standing  jest. 

How  Jerry  lived  is  known  to  fame, 
But   how  he  died  there  's  none  may 
know ; 

One  autumn  day  the  rumor  came, 

"  Th'e  brook  and  Jerry  are  very  low.  " 

And  then  't  was  whispered,  mournfully, 
The    leech    had    come,    and   he  was 
dead  ; 

And  all  the  neighbors  flocked  to  see ; 
"  Poor  little  Jerry  !  "  was  all  they  said. 

"  Little  Jerry  "  —  a  diminutive  Frenchman  of 

remarkable  strength,  wit,  and  good-nature  — 
was  for  many  years  my  father's  miller  in  High- 
gate,  Vermont.  His  surname  was  written 
"  Ooodheart  "  in  the  mill-books  ;  but  he  often 
told  me  that  our  English  translation,  was  quite 
too  weak,  as  the  real  name  was  spelled  "  Fort- 


They  lai.l  him  in  his  earthy  bed,— 
His  miller's'  coat  his  only  shroud  ; 

"  Dust  to  dust,"  the  parsou  said, 
And  all  the  people  wept  aloud. 

For  he  had  shunned  the  deadly  sin, 
And  not  a  grain  of  over-toll 

Had  ever  dropped  into  his  bin, 
To  weigh  upon  his  parting  soul. 

Beneath  the  hill  there  stands  the  mill, 

Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling  stone ; 
The  wheel  is  dripping  and   clattering 

still, 

But  JERRY,  the  miller,  is  dead  and 
gone. 


HOW  CYRUS  LAID  THE  CABLE. 

A    BALLAD. 

COME,  listen  all  unto  my  song ; 

It  is  no  silly  fable ; 
'T  is  all  about  the  mighty  cord 

They  call  the  Atlantic  Cable. 

Bold  Cyrus  Field  he  said,  says  he, 

I  have  a  pretty  notion 
That  I  can  run  a  telegraph 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

Then  all  the  people  laughed,  and  said, 
They  'd  like  to  see  him  do  it ; 

He  might  get  half  seas-over,  but 
He  never  could  go  through  it. 

To  carry  out  his  foolish  plan 

He  never  would  be  able  ; 
He  might  as  well  go  hang  himself 

With  his  Atlantic  Cable. 

But  Cyrus  was  a  valiant  man, 

A  fellow  of  decision  ; 
And  heeded  not  their  mocking  words. 

Their  laughter  and  derision. 

Twice  did  his  bravest  efforts  fail, 
And  yet  his  mind  was  stable ; 

He  wa'n't  the  man  to  break  his  heart 
Because  he  broke  his  cable. 

"  Once   more,   my   gallant    boys ! "   he 

cried  ; 

"Three   times !—  you   know   the    fa- 
ble,- 

( I  '11  make  it  thirty,"  muttered  he, 
" But  I  will  lay  the  cable  I") 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  THE  GODS. 


Once   more  they    tried, —  hurrah!  hur- 
rah! 

What  means  this  great  commotion  ? 
The  Lord  be  praised  !  the  cable  's  laid 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  ! 

Loud    ring    the   bells, —  for,    flas'iing 
through 

Six  hundred  leagues  of  water, 
Old  Mother  England's  benison 

Salutes  her  eldest  daughter  ! 

O'er  all  the  land  the  tidings  speed, 

And  soon,  in  every  nation, 
They  '11  hear  about  the  cable  with 

Profouudest  admiration ! 

Now,  long  live  President  and  Queen  ; 

And  long  live  gallant  Cyrus ; 
And  may  his  courage,  faith,  and  zeal 

With  emulation  tire  us  ; 

And  may  we  honor  evermore 
The  manly,  bold,  and  stable ; 

And  tell  our  sons,  to  make  them  brave, 
How  Cvrus  laid  the  cable  ! 


WHAT    HAS    BECOME    OF    THE 
GODS. 

FULL  often  I  have  heard  it  said, 

As  something  quite  uncontroverted, 
"  The  gods  and  goddesses  are  dead, 

And  liigh  Olympus  is  deserted  "  : 
And  so,  while  thinking  of  the  gods, 

I  made,  one  night,  an  exploration, 
(In  fact  orf.mcy, —  where  's  the  odds  ?) 

To  get  authentic  information. 

I  found  —  to  make  a  true  report, 

As  if  I  were  a  sworn  committee  — 
They  all  had  left  the  tipper  court, 

And  setiled  in  Manhattan  city  ; 
Where  now  the}'  live,  as  best  they  may, 

Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neighbors, 
And  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 

Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 

In  human  frames,  for  safe  disguise, 
They  come  and  go  through  wooden 

portals, 

And  to  the  keen  Detective's  eyes 
Seem    nothing    more   than  common 

mortals ; 

For  mortal-Hke  they  're  clad  and  fed, 
And,  still  to  blind  the  sharp  inspector, 


Eat,  for  ambrosia,  baker's  bread, 
And  tipple  —  everything  but  nectar. 

Great  Jove,  who  wore  the  kingly  crown, 

And  used  to  make  Olympus  rattle, 
As  if  the  sky  was  coming  down, 

Or  all  the  Titans  were  in  battle,  — 
Is  now  a  sorry  playhouse  wight, 

Content    to    make    the    groundlings 

wonder, 
And  earn  some  shillings  every  night, 

By  coining  cheap  theatric  thunder. 

Apollo,  who  in  better  times 

Was  poet-laureate  of  tlf  Elvsians, 
And,  adding  medicine  to  rhymes, 

Was   chief  among   the  court   physi- 
cians, 
Now  cures  disease  of  every  grade,  — 

Lucina's  cares  and  Cu/n'd's  curses, — 
And,  still  to  ply  his  double  trade, 

Bepuffs  his  pills  in  doggerel  verses  ! 

Minerva,  famous  in  her  day 

For    wit    and    war,  —  though    often 

shocking 
The  gods  by  overmuch  display 

Of  what  they  called  her  azure  stock- 
ing — 

Now  deals  in  books  of  ancient  kind 
(Where   Learning  soars   and    Fancy 

grovels), 

And,  to  indulge  her  warlike  mind, 
Writes  very  sanguinary  novels. 

And  Venus,  who  on  Ida's  scat 

In  myrtle-groves  her  charms  paraded, 
Displays  her  beauty  in  the  street, 

And  seems,  indeed,  a  little  faded  ; 
She  's  dealing  in  the  clothing-line 

( If  at  her  word  you  choose  to  take  her), 
In    Something    Square    you     read    the 
sign  :  — 

"  Miss  CTTHEREA,  MANTUA-MAKER." 

Mars  figures  still  as  god  of  war. 

But  not  with  spear  and  iron  hanger, 

Erect  upon  the  ponderous  car 

That  rolled  along  with  fearful  clangor; 

Ah  !  no  ;  of  sword  and  spear  bereft, 
He  stands  beside  his  bottle-holder, 

And  plumps  his  right,  and  plants  his 

W, 

And  strikes  directly  from  the  shoul 
der. 

And  Bacchus,  reared  amon<r  the  vines 
That  flourished  in  the  fields  Elysian, 


THE   COLD-WATER  MAN. 


23 


And  ruddv  wi'h  the  rarest  wines 
That  ever  flashed  upon  the  vision, — 

A  licensed  liquor-dealer  now, 

Sits  pale  and  thin  from  over-dosing 

With  whiskev,  made  —  the  deuce  knows 

how, 
And  brandy  of  his  own  composing. 

And   cunning    Mercurv,  —  what    d'  ye 
think 

Is  now  the  nimble  rogue's  condition  ? 
Of  course  't  was  but  a  step,  10  siuk 

From  Peter  funk  to  politician  ; 
Though  now  he  neither  steals  nor  robs, 

But  just  >ecures  a  friend's  election, 
And  lives  and  thrives  on  little  jobs 

Connected   with  the   Street    Inspec- 
tion. 

Thus  all  the  gods,  in  deep  disguise, 

Go  in  and  out  of  wooden  portals, 
And,  to  the  sh-irpest  human  eyes, 

Seem    nothing   more    than   common 

mortals. 
And  so  they  live,  as  bi-st  they  may, 

Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neighbors, 
And,  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 

Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 


THE   COLD-WATER   MAN. 


A    BALLAD. 

IT  was  an  honest  fisherman, 
I  knew  him  passing  well, — 

And  he  lived  by  a  lirtl'-  pond. 
Within  a  little  dell. 

A  grave  and  quiet  man  was  he, 
Who  loved  his  b-.tok  and  rod,  — 

So  even  ran  his  line  of  life, 
His  neighbors  thought  it  odd. 

For  science  and  for  books,  he  said 

He  never  hud  a  wish, — 
No  school  to  him  was  worth  a  fig, 

Except  a  school  of  fish. 

He  ne'er  aspired  to  rank  or  wealth, 

Nor  cared  about  a  name,  — 
For  though  much  famed  for  fish  was 
he, 

He  never  fished  for  fame. 

Let  others  bend  their  necks  at  sight 
Of  Fashion's  gilded  wheels, 


He  ne'er  had  learned  the  art  to  "bob" 
For  anything  but  eels. 

A  cunning  fisherman  was  he, 

His  angles  all  were  right ; 
The  smallest  nibble  at  his  bait 

Was  sure  to  prove  "  a  bite  "  ! 

All  day  this  fisherman  would  sit 

Upon  an  ancient  log, 
And  gaze  into  the  water,  like 

Some  sedentary  frog ; 

With  all  the  seeming  innocence, 

And  that  unconscious  look, 
That  other  people  often  wear 

When  they  intend  to  "hook"! 

To  charm  the  fish  he  never  spoke,  — 
Although  his  voice  was  fine, 

He  found  the  most  convenient  way 
Was  just  to  drop  a  line. 

And  many  a  gudgeon  of  the  pond, 

If  they  could  speak  to-day, 
Would  own,  with  grief,  this  angler  had 

A  mighty  taking  way. 

Alas  !  one  day  this  fisherman 

Had  taken  too  much  grog, 
And  being  but  a  landsman,  too, 

He  couldn't  keep  the  log. 

'T  was  all  in  vain  with  might  and  main 
He  strove  to  reach  the  shore  ; 

Down  —  down   he   went,   to  feed   the 

fish 
He  'd  baited  oft  before. 

The  jury  gave  their  verdict  that 

'T  was  nothing  else  but  gin 
Had  caused  the  fisherman  to  be 

So  sadly  taken  in  ; 

Though  one  stood  out  upon  a  whim, 
And  said  the  angler's  slaughter, 

To  be  exact  about  the  fact, 
Was,  clearly,  gin-and-woter  / 

The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale, 
To  all  is  plain  and  clear,  — 

That  drinking  habits  bring  a  man 
Too  often  to  his  bier ; 

And  he  who  scorns  to  "  take  the  pledge," 

And  keep  the  promise  fast, 
May  be,  in  spite  of  fate,  a  stiff" 

Cold-water  man  at  last ! 


24 


A   CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE. 


COMIC  MISERIES. 


MY  dear  young  frieud,  whose  shining 
wit 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't  think  yourself  "  a  happy  dog," 

For  all  your  merry  ways  ; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 
•    Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It 's  such'  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man  ! 


You  're  at  an  evening  party,  with 

A  group  of  pleasant  folks,  — 
You  venture  quietly  to  crack 

The  least  of  little  jokes ; 
A  lady  does  n't  catch  the  point, 

And  begs  you  to  explain,  — 
Alas  for  one"  who  drops  a  jest 

And  takes  it  up  again  ! 


You  're  talking  deep  philosophy 

With  very  special  force, 
To  edify  a  clergyman 

With  suitable  discourse  : 
You  think  you've  got  him, — when  he 
calls 

A  friend  across  the  way, 
And  begs  you  '11  say  that  funny  thing 

You  said  the  other  day  ! 

IV. 

Yon  drop  a  pretty  jeu-de-mot 

Into  a  neighbor's  ears, 
Who  likes  to  give  you  credit  for 

The  clever  thing  he  hears, 
And  so  he  hawks  your  jest  about, 

The  old,  authentic  one, 
Just  breaking  off  the  point  of  it, 

And  leaving  out  the  pun  ! 


By  sudden  change  in  politics, 

Or  sadder  change  in  Polly, 
You  lose  your  love,  or  loaves,  and  fall 

A  prey'to  melancholy, 
While  everybody  marvels  why 

Your  mirth  is  under  ban, 
They  think  your  very  grief  "  a  joke," 

Yon  're  such  a  funny  man ! 


Yon  follow  np  a  stylish  card 
That  bids  you  come  and  dine, 


And  bring  a'ong  your  freshest  wit 

(To  pay  for  musty  wine)  ; 
You  're  looking  very  dismal,  when 

My  lady  bounces" in, 
And  wonders  what  you  're  thinking  of, 

And  why  you  don't  begin ! 


You  're  telling  to  a  knot  of  friends 

A  fancy-tale  of  woes 
That  eloud  your  matrimonial  sky, 

And  banish  all  repose, — 
A  solemn  lady  overhears 

The  story  of  your  strife, 
And  tells  the  town  the  pleasant  news:  — 

You  quarrel  with  your  wife ! 


My   dear  young  friend,  whose  shining 
wit" 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't  think  yourself  "a  happy  dog," 

For  all  your  merry  ways ; 
But  learn  "to  wear  a  "sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  yon  can, 
It 's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man  ! 


A  CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE. 

"  Arcades  ambo, 
t  cantare  pares  et  respondere  parati." 

VIRGIL. 


MUCH  lately  have  I  thought,  my  darling 
wife, 

Some  simple  rules  might  make  our  wed- 
ded life 

As  pleasant  always  as  a  morn  in  May  ; 

I  merely  name  it,  —  what  does  Molly 
say? 


Agreed,  your  plan  I  heartily  approve; 

Rules  would  be  nice.  — but  who  shall 
make  them,  love? 

Nay,  do  not  speak  !  —  let  this  the  bar- 
gain be, 

One  shall  be  made  by  you,  and  one  by 
me, 

Till  all  are  done  — 


—  Your  plan  5s  surely  fail, 
In  such  a  work  't  is  fitting  we  should 
share ; 


SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES. 


25 


And  now  —  although  it  matters  not  a 

pin  — 
If  you  have  no  objection,  I  '11  begin. 


Proceed  !    In   making   laws   I  'm  little 

versed  ; 
And  as  to  words,  I  do  not  mind  the 

first ; 
I  only  claim  —  and  hold  the  treasure 

fast  — 
My  sex's  sacred  privilege,  the  last! 


With  all  mv  heart.  Well,  dearest,  to 
begin  :  — 

When  by  our  cheerful  hearth  our  frir-nds 
drop  in, 

And  I  am  talking  in  my  brilliant  style 

(The  rest  with  rapture  listening  the 
while) 

About  the  war,  —  or  anything,  in  short, 

That  you  're  aware  is  my  especial 
'forte,  — 

Pray  don't  get  up  a  circle  of  your 
own, 

And  talk  of — bonnets,  in  an  under- 
tone ! 


That 's  Number  One ;  I  '11  mind  it  well, 

if  you 
Will  do  as  much,  my  dear,  bv  Number 

Two  : 

When  we  attend  a  party  or  a  ball, 
Dou't  leave  your  Molly  standing  by  the 

wall, 
The  helplfss   victim  of    the   dreariest 

bore 

That  ever  walked  upon  a  parlor-floor, 
While  you  —  obLvious  of  your  spouse's 

doom  — 
Flirt  with  the  girls,  — the  gayest  in  the 


When  I  (although  the  busiest  man 
alive) 

Have  snatched  an  hour  to  take  a  pleas- 
ant drive, 

And  say,  "  Kemember,  at  precisely 
four 

You  'II  find  the  carriage  ready  at  the 
door," 

Don't  keep  me  waiting  half  an  hour  or 


\nd  then  declare, 
too  slow ! " 


:  The  clock  must  be 


When  you  (such  things  have  happened 

now  and  then) 
Go  to  the  Club  with,  "  I  '11  be  back  at 

ten," 
And  stay  till  two  o'clock,  you  need  n't 

say, 

"  I  really  was  the  first  to  come  away  ; 
'T  is  very  strange  how  swift  the  time 

has  passed  : 
I'm  sure,  my  dear,  the  clock  must  be 

too  fast !  " 


There  —  that  will  do  ;  what  else  re- 
mains to  say 

We  may  consider  at  a  future  day  ; 

I  'm  getting  sleepy  —  and  —  if  you  have 
done  — 


Not  1 !  —  this  making  rules  is  precious 
fun  ; 

Now  here  's  another  :  —  When  you  paint 
to  me 

"  That  charming  woman  "  you  are  sure 
to  see, 

Don't  —  when  you  praise  the  virtues  she 
has  got  — 

Name  only  those  you  think  your  wife 
has  not ! 

And  here  's  a  rule  I  hope  you  won't  for- 
get, 

The  most  important  I  have  mentioned 
yet,  — 

Pray  mind  it  well :  — Whenever  you  in- 
cline 

To  bring  your  queer  companions  home 
to  dine, 

Suppose,  my  dear, —  Good  Gracious! 
he  's  asleep  ! 

Ah  !  well,  —  't  is  lucky  good  advice  will 
keep ; 

And  he  shall  have  it,  or,  upon  my  life, 

I  've  not  the  proper  spirit  of  a  wife  ! 


SOME   PENCIL-PICTURES: 

TAKEN   AT   SARATOGA. 
I. 

YOUR  novel-writers  make  their  ladies 

tall ; 
I  mean  their  heroines  ;  as  if,  indeed, 


SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES. 


It  were  a  fatal  failing  to  be  small. 
In    this,    I   own,   we    are    not    well 

agreed,— 

I  like  a  little  woman,  if  she  's  pretty, 
Modest  and  clever,  sensible  and  wittv. 


And  such  is  she  who  sits  beside  me; 

fair 
As  her  deportment;  mine  is  not  the 

pen 

To  paint  the  glory  of  hec  Saxon  hair, 
And  eyes  of  heavenly  azure !     There 

are  men 
Who  doat  on   raven  tresses,  and  are 

fond 
Of  dark  complexions, — I  adore  a  blonde  ! 


There  sits  a  woman  of  another  tvpe : 
Superb  in  figure  and  of  stately' size  ; 

An  Amazonian  beauty  round  aud  ripe 
As  Cytherea,  —  with  delicious  eyes 

That  laugh  or  languish  with  a  shifting 
hue 

Somewhat  between  a  hazel  and  a  blue. 


Across  the  room  —  to  please  a  daintier 

taste  — 
A    slender    damsel    flits  with    fairy 

tread  ; 
A  lover's  hand  might  span  her  little 

waist, 
If  so  inclined,  —  that  is,  if  they  were 

wed. 
Some  youths  admire  those  fragile  forms, 

I  've  heard ; 
I  never  saw  the  man,  upon  my  word  ! 


But  styles  of  person,  though  they  please 

me  more 

(As  Nature's  work),  excite  my  wonder 
less 

Than   all   my  curious  vision  may  ex- 
plore 

In  moods  and  manners,  equipage  and 
dress ; 

The  last  alone  were  theme  enough,  in- 
deed, 

For  more  than   I  could  write,  or  you 
would  read. 


Swift  satirized  mankind  with  little  ruth, 
And  womankind  as  well ;  but  we  must 


His   words    of    censure    oft    are   very 

truth, — 
For  instance,  where  the  satirist  has 

shown 
How — thankless   for  the    gifts   which 

they  have  got  — 
All  strive  to  show  the  talents  they  — 

have  not ! 


Thus  (it  is  written)  Frederick  the  Great 
Cared  little  for  the   battles  he  had 

fought, 
But  listened  eagerly  and  all-elate 

To  hear  a  courtier  praise  the  style  and 

thought 
That  graced   his   Sonnets;  though,  in 

fact,  his  verse 
(I  've  tried  to  read  it)  could  n't  well  be 

worse  ! 


The  like  absurd  ambition  you  may  note 


In    fashionable   women, 
there ! 


i  ma}' 
Look 


you 


Observe  an  arm  which  all  (but  she)  must 

vote 
Extremely   ugly ;    so    she    keeps    it 

bare 
(Lest  so  much  beauty  should  escape  the 

light) 
From  wrist  to  shoulder,  morning,  noon, 

and  night ! 


Observe    again   (the    girl  who    stands 

alone) 
How   Pride   reveals   what  Prudence 

would  suppress ; 

A  mere  anatomy  of  skin-and-bone, — 
She    wears,    perversely,    a    d€co\leto 

dress! 
Those  tawny  angles  seek  no  friendly 

screen, 
But  court  the  day,  and  glory  to  be  seen ! 


O  Robert  Burns !  if  such  a  thing  might 

be. 

That  all  bv  ignorance  or  folly  blind, 
For  once   should  "see  themselves    as 

others  see  " 
(As    thou    didst    pray    for    hapless 

human  kind), 
What    startled    crowds    would    madly 

rush  to  hide 
The  dearest   objects   of   their    fondest 

pride ! 


THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 


•21 


BOYS. 

"THE    proper    study    of    mankind    is 

man,"  — 
The  most  perplexing  one,  no  doubt,  is 

woman, 
The  subtlest  study  that  the  mind  can 

scan, 
Of  all  deep  problems,  heavenly  or 

human ! 

But  of  all  studies  in  the  round  of  learn- 

ing, 
From  nature's  marvels  down  to  human 

toys, 
To  minds  well  fitted  for  acute  discern- 

IHR 
The  very  queerest  one  is  that  of  boys  ! 

If  to  ask  questions  that  would  puzzle 

Ph.  to, 
And  all  the  schoolmen  of  the  Middle 

Age,— 

If  to  make  precepts  worthy  of  old  Cato, 
Be  deemed   philosophy,  your  boy  's  a 

sage ! 

If  the  possession  of  a  teeming  fancy 
(Although,  forsooth,  the  younker  does 

n't  know  it), 

Which  lie  can  use  in  rarest  necromancy, 
Be  thought  poetical,  your  boy  's  a  poet ! 

If  a  strong  will  and  most  courageous 

bearing, 

If  to  lie  cruelas  the  Roman  Nero; 
If  all  that 's  chivalrous,  and  all  that 's 

d.-iring, 
Can  make  a  hero,  then  the  boy  's  a  hero! 

But  changing  soon  with  his  increasing 

stature, 
The   boy  is   lost    in    manhood's   riper 

age, 
And  with  him  goes  his  former  triple 

nature, — 
No  longer  Poet,  Hero,  now,  nor  Sage  ! 


THE   SUPERFLUOUS   MAN. 

"  If  is  ascertained  by  inspection  of  the  regis- 
ters of  many  countries,  that  the  uniform  pro- 
portion of  male  to  female  births  is  as  21  to  20 : 
•cronlingly,  in  respect  to  marriage,  every  21st 
man  is  naturally  superfluous.''  —  TREATISE  ON 
POPULATION. 


I  LONG  have  been  puzzled  to  guess, 

And  so  I  have  frequently  said, 
What  the  reason  could  really  be 

That  I  never  have  happened  to  wed ; 
But  now  it  is  perfectly  clear, 

I  am  under  a  natural  ban  ; 
The  girls  are  already  assigned, — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

Those  clever  statistical  chaps 

Declare  the  numerical  run 
Of  women  and  men  in  the  world, 

Is  Twenty  to  Twenty-and-one ; 
And  hence  in  the  pairing,  you  see, 

Since  wooing  and  wedding  began, 
For  every  connubial  score, 

They  've  got  a  superfluous  man  ! 

By  twenties  and  twenties  they  go, 

And  giddily  rush  to  their  fate, 
For  none  of  the  number,  of  course, 

Can  fail  of  a  conjugal  mate  ; 
But  while  they  are  yielding  in  scores 

To  Nature's  inflexible  plan, 
There  's  never  a  woman  tor  me,  — 

For  I  'in  a  superfluous  man  ! 

It  is  u't  that  I  am  a  churl, 

To  solitude  over-inclined; 
It  isn't  that  I  am  at  fault 

In  morals,  or  manners,  or  mind ; 
Then  what  is  the  reason,  you  ask, 

I  'm  still  with  the  bachelor  clan  ? 
I  merely  was  numbered  amiss, — 

And  1  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

It  is  n't  that  I  am  in  want 

Of  personal  beauty  or  grace, 
For  many  a  man  with  a  wife 

Is  uglier  far  in  the  face  ; 
Indeed,  among  elegant  men 

I  fancy  myself  in  the  van ; 
But  wha't  is  the  value  of  that, 

When  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ? 

Although  I  am  fond  of  the  girls, 

For  aught  I  could  ever  discern 
The  tender  emotion  I  feel 

Is  one  that  they  never  return ; 
'T  is  idle  to  quarrel  with  fate, 

For,  struggle  as  hard  as  1  can, 
They  're  mated  already,  you  know,  — 

And  I'm  a  superfluous  man  ! 

No  wonder  I  grumble  at  times, 
'     With  women  so  pretty  and  plenty, 
To  know  that  I  never  was  born 
To  figure  as  one  of  the  Twenty ; 


'IS 


GIRLHOOD. 


But  yet,  when  the  average  lot 
With  critical  vision  I  scan, 

I  think  it  may  be  for  the  best 
That  I  'm  a  superfluous  man  ! 


TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES. 

I  THINK  it  was  a  Persian  king 

Who  used  to  say,  that  evermore 
In  human  life  each  evil  tiling 

Comes  of  the  sex  that  men  adore  ; 
In  brief,  that  nothing  e'er  befell 

To  harm  or  giieve  our  hapless  race, 
But,  if  you  probe  the  matter  well, 

You  '11  find  a  woman  in  the  case  ! 

And  then  the  curious  tale  is  told 

How,  when  upon  a  certain  night 
A  climbing  youngster  lost  his  hold, 

And,  falling  from  a  ladder's  height, 
Was  found,  alas !  next  morning  dead, 

His  Majesty,  with  solemn  face, 
As  was  liis  wont,  demurely  said, 

"  Pray,   who  '9  the    woman    in    the 
case  ?  " 

And  how  a  lady  of  his  court, 

Who  deemed  the  royal  whim  absurd, 
Rebuked  him,  while  she  made  report 

Of  the  mischance  that  late  occurred; 
Whereat  the  king  replied  in  glee, 

"  1  've  heard  the  story,  please  vonr 

Grace, 
And  all  the  witnesses  agree 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  case ! 

"  The  truth,  your  Ladyship,  is  this 

(Nor  is  it  marvelous  at  all), 
The  t-hap  was  climbing  for  a  kiss, 

And  ::ot,  instead,  a  fatal  fall. 
Whene'er  a  man  —  as  I  have  said  — 

Palls  from  a  ladder  or  from  grace, 
Or  breaks  his  faith,  or  breaks  his  head, 

There  is  a  woman  in  the  case  !  " 

For  such  a  churlish,  carping  creed 

As  that  his  Majesty  professed, 
I  hold  him  of  unkingly  breed,  — 

Unless,  in  sooth,  he  spoke  in  jest. 
To  me,  few  things  have  come  to  pass 

Of  good  event,  but  I  can  trace,  — 
Thanks  to  the  matron  or  the  lass,  — 

Somewhere,  a  woman  in  the  case. 

Yet  once,  while  gayly  strolling  where 
A  vast  Museum  still  displays 


Its  varied  wealth  of  strange  and  rare, 
To  charm,  or  to  repel,  the  gaze,  — 

I —  to  a  lady  (who  denied 

The  creed'  by  laughing  in  my  face)  — • 

Took  up,  for  once,  the  Persian's  side 
About  a  woman  in  the  case. 

Discoursing  thus,  we  came  upon 

A  grim  Egyptian  mummy  — dead 
Some  centuries  since.    "  'T  is  Pharaoh's 
son, 

Perhaps  ;    who    knows  ? "    the    lady 

said. 
No !  on  the  black  sarcophagus 

A  female  name  I  stooped  to  trace. 
Toujours  lesfemmes  !    "T  is  ever  thus,  — 

There  was  a  woman  in  the  case  ! 


GIRLHOOD. 

WITH  rosy  cheeks,  and  merry-dancing 
curls, 

And  eyes  of  tender  light, 
O,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 

And  goodly  to  the  sight ! 

Here  comes  a  group  to  seek  my  lonely 

bower, 

Ere  waning  Autumn  dies  : 
How  like  the  dew-drops  on  a  drooping 

flower 
Are  smiles  from  gentle  eyes  ! 

What  beaming  gladness  lights  each  faiiy 
face 

The  while  the  elves  advance, 
Now  speeding  swiftly  in  a  gleesome  race, 

Now  whirling  in  a  dance  ! 

What  heavenlv  pleasure  o'er  the  spirit 

rolls, 

When  all  the  air  along 
Floats   the   sweet   music  of    untainted 

souls, 
In  bright,  uuMillied  song  ! 

The  sacred  nymphs  that  guard  this  syl- 
van ground 

May  sport  unseen  with  these, 
And  joy  to  hear  their  ringing  laugh  re- 
sound 
Among  the  clustering  trees ! 

With  rosy  cheeks,  and    merry -dancing 

curl<, 
And  eyes  of  tender  liyht, 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


29 


0,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 
And  goodly  to  the  sight ! 


THE  COCKNEY. 

IT  was  in  my  foreign  travel, 

At  a  famous  Flemish  inn, 
That  I  met  a  stoutish  person 

With  a  very  ruddy  skin  ; 
And  his  hair  was  something  sandy, 

And  was  done  in  knotty  curls, 
And  was  parted  in  the  middle, 

In  the  manner  of  a  girl's. 

He  was  clad  in  checkered  trousers, 

And  his  coat  was  of  a  sort 
To  suggest  a  scanty  pattern, 

It.  was  bobbed  so  very  short ; 
And  his  cap  was  very  little, 

Si.ch  as  soldiers  often  use  ; 
And  lie  wore  a  pair  of  gaiters, 

And  extremely  heavy  shoes. 

I  addressed  the  man  in  English, 

And  he  answered  in  the  same, 
Though  he  spoke  it  in  a  fashion 

That  I  thought  a  little  lame  ; 
For  the  aspirate  was  missing 

Where  the  letter  should  have  been, 
But  where'er  it  wasn't  wanted, 

He  was  sure  to  put  it  in  ! 

When  I  spoke  with  admiration 

Of  St.  Peter's  mighty  dome, 
He  remarked  :  "  'T  is  really  nothing 

To  the  sights  we  'ave  at  'ome  ! " 
And  declared  upon  his  honor,  — 

Though,  of  course,  't  was  very  queer,- 
That  he  doubted  if  the  Romans 

'Ad  the  /iart  of  making  beer! 

When  I  named  the  Colosseum, 

He  observed,  "  "Pis  very  fair; 
I  mean,  ye  know,  it  would  be, 

If  they  'd  put  it  in  repair; 
But  what  progress  or  ^improvement 

Can  those  curst  ^Italians  'ope 
While  they  're  Aundrr  the  dominion 

Of  that  blasted  muff,  the  Pope  ?  " 

Then  we  talked  of  other  countries, 
And  he  said  that  he  had  heard 

That  //americans  spoke  //inglish, 
But  he  d-emed  it  quite  ^absurd; 

Vet  he  felt  the  deepest  //interest 
In  the  missionary  work, 


And  would  like  to  know  if  Georgia 
Was  in  Boston  or  New  York ! 

When  I  left  the  man-in-gaiters, 

He  was  grumbling,  o'er  his  gin, 
At  the  charges  of  the  hostess 

Of  that  famous  Flemish  inn  ; 
And  he  looked  a  very  Briton 

(So,  methinks,  I  see  him  still), 
As  he  pocketed  the  candle 

That  was  mentioned  in  the  bill ! 


CAPTAIN   JONES'S    MISADVEN- 
TURE. 


CAPTAIN  JONES  was  five-feet  ten 
(The  height  of  CHESTERFIELD'S  gentle- 
men), 

With  a  manly  breadth  of  shoulder  ; 
And  Captain  JONES  was  straight  and 

trim, 

With  nothing  about  him  anywise  slim, 
And  had  for  a  leg  as  perfect  a  limb 
As  ever  astonished  beholder ! 


With  a  calf  of  such  a  notable  size 
'T  would  surely  have  taken  the  highest 
prize 

At  any  fair  Fair  in  creation  ; 
'T  was  just  the  leg  for  a  prince  to  sport 
Who  wished  to  stand  at  a  Royal  Court 

At  the  head  of  Foreign  Legation  ! 


And   Captain  JONES    had  an  elegant 

foot, 
'T  was  just  the  thing  for  his  patent 

boot, 

And  could  so  prettily  shove  it, 
'T  was  a  genuine  pleasure  to  see  it  re 

peat 

In  the  public  walks  the  Milonian  feat 
Of  bearing  the  calf  above  it  5 


But  the  Captain's  prominent  personal 

charm 
Was  neither  his  foot,  nor  leg,  nor  arm, 

Nor  his  very  distingue  air  ; 
Nor  was  it,  although  you're  thinking 

upon  't, 
The  front  of  his  head,  but  his  head  and 

front 
Of  beautiful  coal-black  hair! 


30 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


So  very  bright  was  the  gloss  they  had, 
'T  would   have   made   a   rival   raving 

mad 

To  look  at  his  raven  curls  ; 
Wherever  he  went,  the  Captain's  hair 
Was  certain  to  fix  the  public  stare, 
And  the  constant  cry  was,  "  I  declare  !  " 
And  "  Did  vou  ever!  "  and  "Just  look 

there  ! " 
Among  the  dazzled  girls. 


Now  Captain  JONES  was  a  master  bold 
Of  a  merchant-ship  some  dozen  years 

old, 

And  every  name  could  have  easily  told, 
And  never  confound  the  "  hull "  and 

the  "  hold," 

Throughout  her  inventory; 
And  hu  had  traveled  in  foreign  parts, 
And  learned  a  number  of  foreign  arts, 
And   played    the    deuce   with    foreign 

hearts, 
As  the  Captain  told  the  story. 


He  had  learned  to  chatter  the  French 

and  Spanish, 
To  splutter  the  Dutch,  and  mutter  :he 

Danish, 

In  a  way  that  sounded  oracular ; 
Had  gabbled  among  the  Portuguese ; 
And  caught  the  Tartar,  or,  rather,  a 

piece 

Of  "  broken  China,"  it  was  n't  Chinese, 
Anv  more  than  his  own  vernacular! 


How  Captain  JONES  was  wont  to  shine 
In  the  line  of  ships !  (not  Ships  of  the 

Line,) 
How  he  'd  brag  of  the  water  over  his 

wine, 

And  of  woman  over  the  water  ! 
And  then,  if  you  credit  the  Captain's 

phrase, 

He  was  more  expert  in  sucli  queer  ways 
As  "  doubling  capes  "  and  "  putting  in 

stays," 
Than  any  milliner's  daughter  ! 

IX. 

Now  the  Captain  kept  in  constant  pay 
A  single  Mate,  as  a  Captain  may 
(In  a  nautical,  not  in  a  naughty  way, 
As  "  mates  "  are  sometimes  carried) ; 


But  to  hear  him  prose  of  the  squalls  that 
arose 

In  the  dead  of  the  night  to  break  his  re- 
pose, 

Of  white-cap!    and  cradles,   and   such 
things  as  those, 

And  of  breezes  that  ended  in  regular 

blows, 

You'd  have  sworn  the  Captain  was 
married ! 


The  Captain's  morals  were  fair  enough, 
Though  a  sailor's  life  is  rather  rough, 

By  dint  of  the  ocean's  force  ; 
And  that  one  who  makes  so  many,  in 

ships, 
Should   make,  upon   shore,   occasional 

"  trips," 
Seems  quite  a  matter  of  course. 


And  Captain  JONES  was  stiff  as  a  post 
To  the  vulgar  fry,  but  among  the  most 
Genteel  and  pohsbed,  ruled  the  roast, 
As  no  professional  cook  could  boast 

That  ever  you  set  your  eye  on  ; 
ludeed,  't  was  enough  to  make   him 

vain, 
For  the  pretty  and  proud  confessed  his 

reign,  " 
And  Captain  JONES,  in   manners  and 

mane, 
Was  deemed  a  genuine  lion. 


Ani  the  Captain  reveled  early  and  late, 
At  the  balls  and  routs  of  the  rich  and 

great, 
And  seemed  the  veriest  child  of  fetes, 

Though  merely  a  minion  of  pleasure  ; 
And  he  laughed  with  the  girls  in  merry 

sport, 

And  paid  the  mammas  the  civilest  court, 
And   drank    their  wine,  whatever   the 

sort, 

By  the  nautical  rule  of  "  Any  port  "  — 
"You  may  add  the  rest  at  leisure. 


Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  was  a  dashing  girl 
As  ever  revolved  in  the  waltz's  whirl. 
Or  twinkled  a  foot  in  the  polka's  twirl, 

By  the  glare  of  spermaceti ; 
And  SUSAN'S  form  was  trim  and  slight 
And  her  beautiful  skin,  as  if  in  spite 
Of  her  dingy   name,  was   exceedingly 
white, 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


31 


And   her  azure   eyes  were  "sparkling 

and  bright," 
And  so  was  her  favorite  dittv. 


And    SUSAN   BROWN   had    a   score  of 

names, 

Like  the  verv  voluminous  Mr.  JAMES 
(Who  got  at  the   Font    his   strongest 

claims 

To  be  reckoned  a  Man  of  Letters) ; 
Rut  thinking  the  task  will  hardly  please 
Scholars  who  've  taken  the  higher  de- 


To  be  set  repeating  their  A,  B,  C's, 
I  choose  to  reject  such  fetters  as  these, 
Though  merely  Nominal  fetters. 

xv. 

The  patronymical  name  of  the  maid 
Was  so  completely  overlaid 

With  a  long  praenomiual  cover, 
That  if  each  additional  proper  noun 
Was    laid    with     additional     emphasis 

down, 
Miss    SCSAN    was    done    uncommonly 

BROWN, 
The  moment  her  christ'ning  was  over! 

XVI. 

And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  modern  ro- 
mance, 

In  the  Modes  of  MURRAY  and  Modes  of 
France, 

And  had  learned  to  sing  and  learned  to 

dance, 
In  a  style  decidedly  pretty ; 

And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  classical  lore, 

In  the  works  of  HORACE,  and  several 
more 

Whose  opera  now  would  be  voted  a  bore 
By  the  lovers  of  DONIZETTI. 

XVII. 

And  SUSAN  was  rich.     Her  provident 
sire 

Had   piled  the  dollars   up   higher   and 

higher, 
By  dint  of  his  personal  labors, 

Till   he   reckoned    at    last   a   sufficient 
amount 

To  be  counted,  himself,  a  man  of  ac- 
count 
Among  his  affluent  neighbors. 


By  force  of  careful  culture  alone, 

Old  BROWN'S  estate  had  rapidly  grown 


A  plum  for  his  only  daughter ; 
And,  after  all  the  fanciful  dreams 
Of  golden  fountains  and  golden  streams, 
The  sweat  of  patient  labor  seems 

The  true  Pactolian  water. 


And   while   your  theorist   worries    his 

mind 
In  hopes  the  magical  stone  to  find, 

By  some  alchemical  gammon, 
Practical  people,  by  regular  knocks, 
Are  filling  their  "  pockets  full  of  rocks  " 
From  the  golden  mountain  of  Mam- 
mon ! 


With  charms  like  these,  you  may  well 

suppose 
Miss    SUSAN    BBOWN    had   plenty   of 

beaux, 

Breathing  nothing  bur  passion  ; 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  to  gain, 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  in  vain, 
Were  "  cut,"  and  did  n't  "  come  again," 
In  the  Ordinary  fashion. 


Captain  JONES,  by  the  common  voice, 
At  length  was  voted  the  man  of  her 
choice, 

And  she  his  favorite  fair ; 
It  was  n't  the  Captain's  manly  face, 
His  native  sense,  nor  foreign  grace, 
That  took  her  heart  from  its  proper 

place 
And  put  it  into  a  tenderer  case, 

But  his  beautiful  coal-black  hair  ! 


How  it  is,  why  it  is,  none  can  tell, 
But  all  philosophers  know  full  well, 

Though  puzzled  about  the  action, 
That  of  all  the  forces  under  the  sun 
You  can  hardly  find  a  stronger  one 

Than  capillary  attraction. 

XXIII. 

The  locks  of  canals  are  strong  as  rocks; 

And  wedlock  is  strong  as  a  banker's 
box; 

And  there  's  strength  in  the   locks  a 
Cockney  cocks 

At    innocent    birds,    to    give    himself 
knocks ; 

In  the  locks  of  safes,  and  those  safety- 
locks 
They  call  the  Permutation ; 


32 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


But  of  all  the  locks   that  ever   were 

made 
In    Nature's    shops,    or   the   shops    of 

trade, 

The  subtlest  combination 
Of   beauty   and   strength   is  found   in 

those 
Which  grace  the   heads  of  belles  and 

beaux 
In  every  civilized  nation  ! 

XXIV. 

The  gossips  whispered  it   through  the 

town, 
That    Captain    JONES    loved     SUSAN 

BROWN ; 

But,  speaking  with  due  precision, 
The  gossips'  tattle  was  out  of  joint, 
For  the  lady's  "  blunt "  was  the  only 

point 
That  dazzled  the  lover's  vision  ! 


And  the  Captain  begged,  in  his  smooth- 
est tones, 

Miss    SUSAN    BROWN    to  be    Mistress 
JONES,  — 

Flesh   of    his   flesh    and    bone    of    his 

bones, 
Till  death  the  union  should  sever; 

For  these  are  the  words  employed,  of 
course, 

Though   Death  is  cheated,  sometimes, 
by  Divorce, 

A  fact  which  gives  an  equivocal  force 
To  that  beautiful  phrase,  ''  forever ! '' 

XXVI. 

And    SUSAN    sighed    the    conventional 
"  Nay  *; 

In  such  a  bewitching,  affirmative  way, 

The  Captain  perceived  't  was  the  femi- 
nine "  Ay," 
And  sealed  it  in  such  commotion, 

That  no   "  lip-service "   that  ever  was 
paid 

To  the  ear  of  a  god,  or  the  cheek  of  a 

maid, 
Looked  more  like  real  devotion  ! 


And  SUSAN'S  Mamma  made  an  elegant 

fete, 
And  exhibited  all  the  family  plate, 

In  honor  of  SUSAN'S  lover  ; 
For  now  't  was  settled,  another  trip 
Over  the  sea  in  his  merchant-ship, 

And  his  bach-lor-ship  was  over. 


There  was  an  Alderman,  well  to  do, 
Who  was  fond  of  talking  about  vertu, 
And  h;id,  besides,  the  genuine  gotit, 

If  one  might  credit  his  telling  ; 
And  the  boast  was  true  beyond  a  donl>t 
If  he  had  only  pronounced  it  "  gout," 

According  "to  English  spelling  ! 

XXIX. 

A  crockery-merchant  of  great  parade, 
Always  boasting  of  having  made 
His  large  estate  in  the  China  trade ; 

Several  affluent  tanners ; 
A  lawyer,  whose  most  important  "  case  * 
Was  that  which  kept  his  books  in  place; 
His  wife,  a  lady  of  matchless  grace, 
Who  bought  her  form,  and  made  her 
face, 

And  plainly  borrowed  her  manners ; 

XXX. 

A  druggist ;  an  undevont  divine ; 

A  banker,  who  'd  got  as  rich  as  a  mine 

"  In  the  cotton  trade  and  sugar  line,'' 

Along  the  Atlantic  border ; 
A  doctor,  fumbling  his  golden  seals  ; 
And  an  undertaker  close  at  his  heels, 

Quite  in  the  natural  order ! 

XXXI. 

People  of  rank,  and  people  of  wealth, 
Plethoric  people  in  delicate  health 
(Who    f;ist    in    public,    and    feast   by 
stealth), 

And  people  slender  and  hearty 
Flocked  in  so  fast,  't  was  plain  to  the 

eye 

Of  any  observer  standing  by, 
That  party->pirit  was  running  high, 

And  this  was  the  popular  party! 


To  tell  what  griefs  and  woes  betide 
The  hapless  world,  from  female  pride, 

Were  a  long  and  dismal  story  ; 
Alas  for  SUSAN  and  womankind! 
A  sudden  ambition  seized  her  mind, 

In  the  height  of  her  party-glory. 


To  pique  a  group  of  laughing  girls 
Who  stood  admiring  the  Captain's  curls, 

She  formed  the  resolution 
To  get  a  lock  pf  her  lover's  hair, 
In   the  gaze    of    the  guests  assembled 
there 


MIRALDA. 


33 


By  some  expedient,  foul  or  fair, 
Before  the  party's  conclusion. 

XXXIV. 

"  Only  a  lock,  dear  Captain  !  no  more, 
'A  lock  for  memory,'  I  implore  !  " 

But  JONES,  the  gayest  of  quizzers, 
Replied,  as  he  gave  his  eye  a  cock, 
"  'T  is  a  treacherous  memory  needs 
lock," 

And  dodged  the  envious  scissors. 


Alas  that  SUSAN  could  n't  refrain, 
In  her  zeal  the  precious  lock  to  gain, 
From   laying   her   hand  on   the   lion's 

mane  ! 

To  see  the  cruel  mocking, 
And  hear  the  short,  affected  cough, 
The    general    titter,    and  chuckle,  and 

scoff, 
When  the   Captain's   Patent   Wig  came 

off, 
Was  really  dreadfully  shocking ! 

XXXVI. 

Of  SUSAN'S  swoon,  the  tale  is  told, 
That  long  before  her  earthly  mould 

Regained  its  ghostly  tenant, 
Her  luckless,  wigless,  loveless  lover 
Was  on  the  sea,  and  "  half-seas-over," 
Dreaming  that  some  piratical  rover 

Had  carried  away  his  Pennant ! 


MIRALDA : 

A   TALE   OF   CUBA.1 

IN  Cuba,  when  that  lovely  land 

Saw  Tacon  reigning  in' his  glory, 
How  Justice  held,  at  his  command, 
Her  balance  with  an  even  hand  — 
Learn  while  you  listen  to  my  story. 


Miralda  —  such  her  maiden  name  — 
Was  poor  and  fair,  and  gay  and  witty, 

Yet  in  Havana  not  a  dame 

In  satin  had  a  fairer  fame, 

Or  owned  a  face  one  half  so  pretty. 


For  years  she  plied  her  humble  trade 

(To  sell  cigars  was  her  vocation), 
And  many  a  gay  gallant  had  paid 


More   pounds  to  please  the  handsome 

maid 
Than  pence  to  buy  his  soul's  salvation. 


But  though  the  maiden,  like  the  sun, 
Had  smiles  for  every  transient  rover, 

Her  smiles  were  all  the  bravest  won ; 

Miralda  gave  her  heart  to  none 
Save  Pedro,  her  affianced  lover ; 


Pedro,  a  manly  youth  who  bore 

His  station  well  as  labor's  vassal, 
The  while  he  plied  a  nimble  oar 
For  passengers,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Between  the  Punta  and  the  castle. 


The  handsome  boatman  she  had  learned 
To  love  with    fondest,    truest    pas- 
sion ; 

For  him  she  saved  the  gold  she  earned  ; 

For  him  Miralda  proudly  spurned 
The  doubtful  suit  of  men  of  fashion. 


Of  these  —  a  giddy,  gaudy  train, 

Strict  devotees  of  wanton  Pleasure  — 
Gay  Count  Almonte  sought  to  gain 
Miralda's  love  ;  but  all  in  vain ; 

Her  heart  was  still  her  Pedro's  treas- 


VIII. 

At  last  the  Count,  in  sheer  despair 

Of  gaining  aught  by  patient  suing, 
Contrived  —  the  wretch  !  —  a  cunning 

snare, 
By  wicked  force  to  win  and  wear 

The  prize   that  spurned  his  gentler 
wooing. 


One  day  a  dashing  Captain  came, 

Before  the  morning  sun  had  risen, 
And,    bowing,    begged    to    know    her 

name. 

"  Miralda."     "  Faith  !  it  is  the  same. 
Here,    men,     conduct     the    girl    to 
prison !  " 


"  By  who«e  authority  ?  "  she  said. 

"  The  Governor's  ! "    "  Nay,  then  't  is 

folly 
To  question  more."     She  dropped  her 


34 


M1RALDA. 


And  followed  where  the  Captain  led, 
O'envhelmed    with    deepest    melan- 
choly. 


The  prison  seems  a  league  or  more 
From  poor  Miralda's   humble   shan- 
ty; 

Was  e'er  such  treachery  before  ? 

The  Count  Almonte  's  "at  the  door, 
To  hand  her  down  from  the  volante  ! 


"  Ah,  coward  !  "  cried  the  anjrry  maid  ; 
"  This  scurvy  trick  !     If  Tacon  knew 

it, 

Your  precious  '  Captain,'  I  'm  afraid, 
Would  miss,  for  once,  his  dress  parade  ! 
Release  me,  Count,  or  you  may  rue 
it!" 


"  Nav,"  said  the  Count,  "  that  may  not 
be; 

I  cannot  let  you  go  at  present ; 
I  '11  lock  you  up  awhile,"  said  he  ; 
"  If  you  are  lonely,  send  for  me ; 

I  '11  try  to  make  your  prison  pleasant." 


Poor  Pedro  !  guess  the  lad's  dismay, 

Hi>  stark  astonishment,  at  leaBiiing 

His  lady-love  had  gone  away 

(Hut  how  or  whither  none  could  say), 

And  left  no  word  about  returning  ! 


The    man   who   wrote   that    "  Love  is 

blind" 
.Could  ne'er  have  known  a  genuine 

lover ; 

Poor  Pedro  gave  his  anxious  mind 
Miralda's  hiding-place  to  find, 
And  found  it  ere  the  day  was  over. 


C  lad  in  a  friar's  garb,  he  hies 

At  night  to  where  his  love  is  hidden, 
And,  favored  by  his  grave  disguise, 
Jle  learns  that  she  is  safe,  —  and  flies, 
As  he  had  entered,  unforbidden. 


What  could  he  do  1  he  pondered  long 

On  every  plausible  suggestion. 
Alas  !  the  rich  may  .do  .a  wrong, 
And  buy  their  quittance  with  a«ong, 
If  any  dare  the  deed  to  question  ! 


"  Yet  Rumor  whispered  long  ago 

(Although   she  's   very  fond   of   ly 
ing), 

'  Tacon  loves  justice  ! '     May  be  so  ; 

Quien  sabe  ?     Let  his  answer  show  ! 
1  '11  go  and  see ;  it  is  but  trying !  " 


And,  faith,  the  boatman  kept  his  word  , 

To  Tacon  he  the  tale  related, 
Which,  when  the  Governor  had  heard. 
With   righteous  wrath   his   breast  was 

stirred. 

"  Swear,    boy,"   he    said,   "  to  what 
you  've  stated  ! " 


He  took  the  oath,  and  straight  began 
For  speedy  justice  to  implore  him  : 
Great    Tacon     frowned,     "  Be     silent, 

man !  " 
Then    called   the   guard  :    away    they 

ran, 

And   soon   the  culprit  stood   before 
him! 


Miralda  too  was  standing  near, 

To  witness  to  his  dark  transgression. 

"  Know  you,   my   lord,   why   you    are 
here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Excellencia,  it  is  clear 

That  I  must  plead  an  indiscretion." 

XXII. 

"  The  uniform  your  servants  wore 
In  this  affair,  —  how  came   they  bv 

it? 
Whose   sword   was   that  your  Captain 

bore? 

The  crime  is  grave."     "  Nay,  I  implore 
Your  clemency  ;  I  can't  deny  it. 

XXIII. 

"  This  damsel  here,  —  has  any  stain 
By  act  of  yours  been  put  upon  her?  '' 

"  No,  Excellencia  ;  all  in  vain 

Were   bribes   and    threats   her  will  to 

gain,  — 
I  here  declare  it  on  my  honor !  " 

XXIV. 

"  Enough  ! "  the  Governor  replied, 

And  added,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
"  Go,  bring  a  Priest ! "     What  can  b» 
tide? 


LE  JARDIN  MABILLE. 


35 


To  shrive  ?  to  wed  ?  who  can  decide  ? 
All  stood  and  mused  in  silent  wonder 


The  Priest  was  brought,  —  a  reverend 
head, 

His  hands  with  holy  emhlems  laden. 
"  Now,  Holy  Father,  please  to  wed, 
And  let  the  rite  be  quickly  sped, 

Senor  Almonte'  and  this  maiden  ! " 

XXVI. 

Poor  Pedro  stood  aghast !     With  fear 
And  deep  dismay  Miralda  trembled ; 
While  Count  Almonte,  thus  to  hear 
The  words  of  doom  that  smote  his  ear, 
His  sudden  horror  ill  dissembled. 


Too  late !  for  in  that  presence  none 
Had  dared  a  whisper  of  negation. 

The  words  were   said ;  the  deed   was 
done  ; 

The  Church  had  joined  the  two  in  one 
Ere  they  had  breath  for  lamentation  ! 


The  Count  rode  off  with  drooping  head, 

Cursing  his  fortune  and  his  folly ; 
But  ere  a  mile  his  steed  had  sped, 
A  flash  !  —  and  lo  !  the  Count  is  dead, 
Slain  by  a  murderous  leaden  volley. 

XXIX. 

Soon  came  the  officer  who  bore 
The  warrant  of  his  execution, 

With,  "  Excellencia,  all  is  o'er ; 

Senor  Almonte  is  no  more ; 

Sooth  !  —  't  was  a    fearful    retribu- 
tion !  " 

XXX. 

"Now  let  the  herald,"  Tacon  said 
"(That  none  these  doings  may  dis- 
parage), 

Procliiim  Senor  Almonte'  dead  ; 
And  that  Miralda  take,  instead, 
His  lands,  now  hers  by  lawful  mar- 
riage ! " 

XXXI. 

And  so  it  was  the  lovers  came 
To    happiness   beyond   their  dream- 
ing, 

And  ever  after  blessed  the  name 
Of  him  who  spared  a  maiden  shame, 
And  spoiled  a  villain's  wicked  schem- 
ing. 


LE  JARDIN   MABILLE. 


SHOULD  you  e'er  go  to  France  —  as  of 
course  you  intend  — 

(Though  the  Great  Exposition  is  now 
at  an  end,) 

And  in  Paris  should  stroll  —  as  I'm  cer- 
tain you  will  — 

In  the  Gardens  adorned  with  such  ex- 
quisite skill 

To  call  them  "  Elysian  "  is  scarcely  to 
reach 

What  the  grammars  entitle  a  "  figure  of 
speech,"  — 

Don't  fail,  ere  you  go,  for  a  moment  to 
steal 

A  look  at  the  spot  called  the  Jardin  Ma- 
bille. 


'T  is  a  place  of  enchantment !  a  rural 
retreat 

Where  Nature  and  Art  in  such  harmony 
meet 

To  form  an  Elysium  of  music  and  flow- 
ers, 

Of  moss-covered  grottoes  and  fairylike 
bowers, 

Where  lamps  blaze  in  tulips,  and  glow- 
worms of  gas 

Illumine  the  roses  and  gleam  in  the 
grass,  — 

That,  merely  to  see  it,  one  cannot  but 
feel 

If  there  's  Heaven  on  Earth,  't  is  the 
Jardin  Mabille! 


But  wait  until  midnight,  or,  say,  one 

o'clock, 
When  hither  by  hundreds  the  citizens 

flock, 

And  strangers  unnumbered  are  stroll- 
ing around 
In  the  serpentine  walks  of  the  beautiful 

ground  ; 
Just  wait,  if  you  please,  till  the  dance  is 

begun, 
And  then,  at  the  height  of  the  frolic 

and  fun, 
Pray  look  where  the  bacchanals  caper 

and  reel, 
And  say  what  vou  think  of  the  Jardin 

Mabille  f 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON. 


The  music  —  the  maddest  that  ever  you 

beard  — 
Strikes  up  from  the  stand,  aud  away,  at 

the  word, 
The  daucers  revolve,  —  't  is  the  waltz, 

that  is  all ; 
The  same  vou  have  witnessed  at  many 

a  ball. 
There  's  nothing  extremely  surprising 

in  this. 
The  motion  is  swift,  but  there  's  little 

amiss  ; 
You  merely  remark,  "  There  is  plenty 

of  zeal 
In  the  dancers  who  dance  in  the  Jardin 

Mabille  !  " 


But  see !  where  the  people  are  closing 

about 
Two  brazen  browed  women;  and  hark 

to  the  shout, 
"  IM  Can-can  !  —  they  're  at  it !  "  —  No 

wonder  you  stare, 
One  foot  on  the  pavement,  —  now  two 

in  the  air ! 
A    Cockney,   intent   on   this   rarest  of 

shows, 
Retreats  from  the  shoe  that  is  grazing 

his  nose ! 
Good  lack  !  till  he  dies,  he  '11  remember 

the  heel 
That  spoiled  his  new  hat  in  the  Jardin 

Mabille! 


There 's  drinking  and  gaming  at  many 
a  stand ; 

There's  feasting  and  flirting  on  every 
hand ; 

The  Paphian  queen,  it  were  easy  to  tell, 

Is  the  Abbess,  to-night,  of  yon  anchorite 
cell; 

And  the  marveling  Turk  (for  the  Sul 
tan  is  here  !  ) 

Cries,  "  Allah  !  Mrshallah  !  these  Christ- 
ians are  queer ! 

Such  orgies  as  these  very  plainly  re- 
veal 

Why  they  don't  take  their  wives  to  the 
Jardin  Mabille  !  " 


"  A  pity  !  "  you  sigh, —  and  a  pity  it  is 
Such  revels  should  shame  such  a  garden 
as  this ; 


Where  all  that  is  charming  in  Nature 
and  Art 

Serves  only  to  sully  and  harden  the 
heart. 

"  The  Devil's  own  hot-house  ! "  you 
musingly  say, 

While  turning  in  "sadness  and  sorrow 
away ; 

Reflecting  that  Sin — as  you  potently 
feel  — 

Is  the  thriftiest  plant  in  the  Jardin  Ma- 
bille ! 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON. 

AFTER    PRAED.2 

IN  Ballston  —  once  a  famous  spot, 

Ere  Saratoga  came  in  fashion  — 
I  had  a  transient  fit  of  what 

The  poets  call  the  "  tender  passion  "  ; 
In  short,  when  I  was  young  and  gay, 

And  Fancy  held  the  tlirone  of  Rea- 
son, 
I  fell  in  love  with  Julia  May, 

The  reigning  beauty  of  the  season. 

Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  such  a  pair ! 

No  star  in  heaven  was  ever  brighter  ; 
Her  skin  was  most  divinely  fair ; 

I  never  saw  a  shoulder  whiter. 
And  there  was  something  in  her  form 

(Juste  en-bon-point,  I  think  they  term 

it) 
That  really  was  enough  to  warm 

The  icy  bosom  of  a  hermit ! 

In  sooth,  she  was  a  witching  girl, 

And  even  women  called  her  pretty, 
Who  saw  her  in  the  waltz's  whirl, 

Beneath  the  glare  of  spermaceti; 
Or  if  they  carped  —  as  Candor  must 

When  wounded  pride  and  envy  ran- 
kle— 
'T  was  only  that  so  full  a  bust 

Should  heave  above  so  trim  an  ankle ! 

One  eve,  remote  from  festive  mirth, 
We  talked  of  Nature  and  her  treas- 
ures ; 

I  said  :  —  "  Of  all  the  joys  of  earth, 
Pray  name  the  sweetest  of  her  pleas- 
ures." 

She  gazed  with  rapture  at  the  moon 
That  struggled    through  the  spread 
ing  beeches, 


A   REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 


37 


And  answered  thus  :  —  "A  grove  —  at 

noon  — 

A    friend  —  and   lots  of   cream   and 
peaches ! " 

I  spoke  of  trees,  —  the  stately  oak 

That  stands  the  forest's  royal  leader; 
The  whi^perintr  pine;  and  then  I  spoke 

Of  Lebanon's  imperial  cedar; 
The  maple  of  our  colder  clime  ; 
The  elm    with   branches    intermeet- 

ing,  — 

She    thought   the   palm    must  be   sub- 
lime, 

And  —  dates  were  very  luscious  eat- 
ing! 

I  talked  about  the  sea  and  sky, 

And  spoke,  with  something  like  emo- 
tion, 
Of  countless  pearly  gems  that  lie 

Ungathered  by  the  sounding  ocean. 
She  smiled,  and'said,  (was  it  in  jest?  ) 

Of  all  the  shells  that  Nature  boasted 
She  thought  that  oysters  were  the  best, 

"And,   dearest,   don't  you  love  'em 
roasted !  " 

I  talked  of  books  and  classic  lore  ; 
I  spoke  of  Cooper's  latest  fiction, 
Recited  melodies  from  Moore, 
And   lauded    Irving's   charming   dic- 
tion ;  — 

She  sat  entranced ;  then  raised  her  head, 
And  with  a  smile  that  seemed  of  heav- 
en, 

"  We  must  return,"  the  siren  said, 
"  Or    we    shall    lose    the    lunch    at 
'leven !  " 

I  can't  describe  the  dreadful  shock, 

The  mingled  sense  of  love  and  pity, 
With  which,  next  day,  at  ten  o'clock, 

I  started  for  Manhattan  city ; 
'T  was  years  ago, —  that  sad  "  Good-by," 

Yet  o'er  the  scene  fond  memory  lin- 
gers ; 
I  see  the  crystals  in  her  eye, 

And  berry-stains  upon  her  fingers ! 

\h  me  !  of  so  much  loveliness 

It  had  been  sweet  to  be  the  winner  ; 
I  know  she  loved  me  only  less  — 
The  merest  fraction  —  than  her  din- 
ner. 

T  wa*  hard  to  lose  so  fair  a  prize, 
But  then    (I  thought)  't  were  vastly 
harder 


To  have  before  my  jealous  eyes 
A  constant  rival  in  my  larder! 


WHEN   I   MEAN   TO   MARRY 

WHEN  do  I  mean  to  marry  ?  —  Well, 
'Tis  idle  to  dispute  with  fate; 

But  if  you  choose  to  hear  me  tell, 
Pray  listen  while  I  fix  the  date. 

W  lien  daughters  haste,  with  eager  feet, 
A  mother's  daily  toil  to  share ; 

Can  make  the  puddings  which  they  eat, 
And  mend  the  stockings  which  they 


When  maidens  look  upon  a  man 
As  in  himself  what  they  would  marry, 

And  not  as  army-soldiers  scan 
A  sutler  or  a  commissary  ; 

When  gentle  ladies,  who  have  got 

The  offer  of  a  lover's  hand, 
Consent  to  share  his  earthly  lot, 

And  do  not  mean  his  lot  "of  land  ; 

When  young  mechanics  are  allowed 
To  find  and  wed  the  farmers'  giiis 

Who  don't  expect  to  be  endowed 
With  rubies,  diamonds,  and  pearls ; 

When  wives,  in  short,  shall  freely  give 
Their  hearts  and    hands  to  aid  their 
spouses, 

And  live  as  they  were  wont  to  live 
Within  their  sires'  one-story  houses  ; 

Then,  madam,  —  if  I  'm  not  too  old,  — 
Rejoiced  to  quit  this  lonely  life, 

I  '11  brush  my  beaver ;  cease  to  scold ; 
And  look  about  me  for  a  wife ! 


A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 

'T  is  twenty  years,  and  something  more 

Since,  all   athirst  for  useful   knowl 

edge, 
I  took  some  draughts  of  classic  lore, 

Drawn  very  mild,  at rd  College; 

Yet  I  remember  all  that  one 

Could  wish  to  hold  in  recollection  ; 
The  bovs,  the  joys,  the  noise,  the  fun; 

But  not  a  single  Conic  Section. 


THE  KNOWING  CHILD. 


I  recollect  those  harsh  affairs, 

The  moruiug  bells  that  gave  us  pan- 
ics ; 
I  recollect  the  formal  prayers, 

That  seemed  like  lessons  in  Mechan- 
ics; 

I  recollect  the  drowsy  way 
In   which    the    students  listened    to 

them, 

As  clearly,  in  my  wig,  to-day, 
As  when,  a  boy,  I  slumbered  through 
them. 

I  recollect  the  tutors  all 

As  freshly  now,  if  I  may  say  so, 
As  any  chapter  I  recall 

In  Homer  or  Ovidius  Naso. 
I  recollect,  extremely  well, 

"Old  Hugh,"  the  mildest  of  fanat- 
ics; 
1  well  remember  Matthew  Bell, 

But  very  faintly,  Mathematics. 

I  recollect  the  prizes  paid 

For  lessons  fathomed  to  the  bottom  ; 
(Alas  that  pencil-marks  should  fade! ) 

I  recollect  the  chaps  who  got  'em,  — 
The  light  equestrians  who  soared 

O'er  every  passage  reckoned  stony  ; 
And  took  tlie  chalks,  —  but  never  scored 

A  single  honor  to  the  pony  ! 

Ah    me  !    what     changes    Time     has 

wrought, 

And  how   predictions    have   miscar- 
ried ! 
A  few   have    reached    the    goal    they 

sought, 
And   some  are  dead,  and  some  are 

married ! 
And  some  in  city  journals  war  ; 

And  some  as  politicians  bicker; 

And  some  are  pleading  at  the  bar  — 

'  For  jury-verdicts,  or  for  liquor ! 

And    some  on   Trade   and    Commerce 

wait; 
And  some  in  schools  with  dunces  bat- 

i  tie; 

And  some  tne  Gospel  propagate ; 
And  some  the  choicest  breeds  of  cat- 
tle ; 

And  some  are  living  at  their  ease  ; 
And  some  were  wrecked  in  "  the  re- 
vulsion " ; 
Borne   served   the   State  for  handsome 

fees, 
And  one,  I  hear,  upon  compulsion  ! 


LA  MONT,  who,  in  his  college  days, 
Thought  e'en  a  cross  a  moral  scan 

dal, 

Has  left  his  Puritanic  ways, 
And  worships  now  with  bell  and  can- 

die; 
And  MANN,  who  mourned  the  negro's 

fate, 

And  held  the  slave  as  most  unlnckv, 
Now  holds  him,  at  the  market  rate, 
On  a  plantation  in  Kentucky  ! 

TOM  KNOX  —  who  swore  in  such  a  tone 

It  fairly  might  be  doubted  whether 
It  really  was  himself  alone, 

Or  Knox  and  Erebus  together  — 
Has  grown  a  very  altered  mau, 

And,  changing    oaths  for  mild    en- 
treaty, 
Now  recommends  the  Christian  plan 

To  savages  hi  Otaheite  ! 

Alas  for  young  ambition's  vow! 

How  envious    Fate    may  overthrow 

it!  — 
Poor  HARVEY  is  in  Congress  now, 

Who  struggled  long  to  be  a  }>oet ; 
SMITH    carves    (quite   well)    memorial 

stones, 
Who  tried  in  vain    to  make  the  law 

go; 
HALL   deals    in    hides  ;    and    "  Pious 

Joiies  " 
Is  dealing  faro  in  Chicago  ! 

And,  sadder  still,  the  brilliant  HAYS, 

Once  honest,  manly,  and  ambitious, 
Has  taken  latterly  to  ways 

Extremely  profligate  and  vicious  ; 
By  slow  degrees  —  I  can't  tell  how  — 

Ho  's  reached  at  last  the  verv  ground- 
sel. 
And  in  New  York  he  figures  now, 

A  member  of  the  Common  Council ! 


THE   KNOWING  CHILD. 

"  I/Enfant  terrible  !  " 

'  MAIS,  gardez-vous,  mm  cher,"  she  said 
And  then  the  mother  smiled  ; 

'  Speak  very  softly,  if  you  please, 
He  's  such  a  knowing  child  !  " 

My  simple  sister  spoke  the  truth  ; 
Ther 


re  is  n't,  I  supposa, 


IDEAL  AND  REAL. 


39 


A  tiling  on  earth  he  should  n't  know 
But  what  that  urciiin  knows  ! 

And  all  he  knows  the  younker  tells 

In  such  a  knowing  way ; 
For  what  he  knows,  you  may  be  sure, 

He  does  not  fear  to  say. 

He  knows  he  is  an  arrant  churl, 

Although  he  looks  so  mild  ; 
And  —  worst  of  all  —  full  well  he  knows 

He  is  a  knowing  child. 

He  knows  —  I  've  often  told  him  so  — 

I  am  averse  to  noise  ; 
He  knows  his  uncle  isn't  fond 

OI  martial  little  boys  ; 

And  that,  no  doubt,  is  why  he  pounds 

His  real  soldier  drum 
Beneath  my  window,  morn  and  night, 

Until  my  ear  is  numb  ! 

He   knows   my   age  —  that   dreadful 
boy  — 

Exactly  to  a  day  ; 
He  knows  precisely  why  my  locks 

Have  not  a  thread  of  gray. 

He  knows  —  and  says  (what  shocking 
talk 

For  one  so  very  small !) 
My  he;id — without  inv  curlv  scratch  — 

Looks  like  a  billiard  ball!" 

He  knows  that  Mary's  headache  means 

She  does  n't  wish  to  go  ; 
And  lets  the  sacred  secret  out 

Before  her  waiting  beau  ! 

He  knows  why  Clara  always  coughs 

When  she  is  asked  to  sing  ; 
He  knows  (and  blahs!)  that  Julia's  bust 

Is  not  the  real  thing  ! 

He  knows  about  the  baby  too ; 

Though  he  has  often  heard 
The  nurse's  old,  convenient  tale, 

He  don't  believe  a  word 

And  when  those  ante-natal  caps 

Their  future  use  disclose, 
He  knows  again  —  the  knowing  imp  — 

Just  what  his  uncle  knows  ! 

Ah !   well ;  no  doubt,  what  Time  may 

bring 
'T  ia  better  not  to  see  ; 


I  know  not  what  the  changeful  Fates 
May  have  in  store  for  me  ; 

But  if  within  the  nuptial  noose 
My  neck  should  be  beguiled, 

Heaven  save  the  house  from  childless 

ness 
And  from  a  knowing  child  ! 


IDEAL  AND  REAL. 


SOME  years  ago,  when  I  was  young, 

And  Mrs.  Jones  was  Miss  Delancy; 
When  wedlock's  canopy  was  hung 

With  curtains  from  the  loom  of  fancy ; 
I  used  to  paint  my  future  life 

With  most  poetical  precision, — 
My  special  wonder  of  a  wife; 

My  happy  days;  my  nights  Elysian. 

I  saw  a  lady,  rather  small 

(A  Juno  was  my  strict  abhorrence), 
With  flaxen  hair,  contrived  to  fall 

In  careless  ringlets,  a  la  Lawrence  ; 
A  blonde  complexion  ;  eyes  that  drew 

From    autumn    clouds    their    azure 

brightness ; 
The  foot  of  Hebe ;  arms  whose  hue 

Was  perfect  in  its  miiky  whiteness  ! 

I  ?aw  a  party,  quite  select,  — 

There   might    have    been   a  baker's 

dozen ; 
A  parson,  of  the  ruling  sect ; 

A  bridemaid,  and  a  city  cousin ; 
A  formal  speech  to  me  and  mine 

(Its  meaning  I  could  scarce  discover) ; 
A  taste  of  cake ;  a  sip  of  wine ; 

Some    kissing  —  and   the  scene   was 
over ! 

I  saw  a  baby  —  one  —  no  more ; 

A  cherub  pictured,  rather  faintlj, 
Beside  a  pallid  dame  who  wore 

A  countenance  extremely  saintly. 
I  saw,- —  but  nothing  could"  I  hear, 

Except  the  softest  prattle,  maybe, 
The  merest  breath  upon  the  ear,  — 

So  quiet  was  that  blesse'd  baby ! 

REAL. 

I  see  a  woman,  rather  tall, 
And  yet,  I  own,  a  comely  lady 


40 


THE   GAME   OF  LIFE. 


Complexion  — snch  as  I  must  call 

(To! 
A.  hand  not  handsome,  yet  confessed 


fo  be  exact)  a  little  shady  ; 


A  generous  one  for  love  or  pity 
A  nimble  foot,  and  —  neatly  dressed 
In  No.  5 — extremely  pretty  ! 

I  see  a  group  of  boys  and  girls 

Assembled  round  the  knee  paternal 
With  ruddy  cheeks  and  tangled  curls, 

And  manners  not  at  all  supernal. 
And  one  has  reached  a  manly  size ; 

And  one  aspires  to  woman's  stature; 
And  one  is  quite  a  recent  prize, 

And  all  abound  in  human  nature  ! 

The  boys  are  hard  to  keep  in  trim  ; 

The  (-iris  are  often  rather  trying ; 
And  baby  —  like  the  cherubim  — 

Seems  very  fond  of  steady  crying! 
And  yet  the  precious  little  one, 

His  mother's  dear,  despotic  master, 
Is  worth  a  thousand  babies  done 

In  Parian  or  in  alabaster ! 

And  oft  that  stately  dame  and  I, 

When  laughing  o'er  our  early  dream- 
ing, 
And  marking,  as  the  years  go  by. 

How  idle  was  our  youthful "  schem- 
ing, 
Confess  the  wiser  Power  that  knew 

How  I)uty  every  joy  enhances, 
And  gave  us  blessing's  rich  and  true, 

And  better  far  than  all  our  fancies. 


THE  GAME  OF  LIFE. 


A    HOMILY. 

THERE  's  a  game  much  in  fashion,  —  I 

think  it 's  called  Euchre 
(Though  I  never   hare   played  it,  for 

pleasure  or  lucre), 
In  which,  when  the  cards  are  in  certain 

conditions, 
The   players   appear   to  have  changed 

their  positions, 
And  one  of  them  cries,  in  a  confident 

tone, 
"  I  think  I  may  venture  to  go  it  alone  ! 

While  watching  the  game,  't  is  a  whim 

of  the  bard's 
A  moral  to  draw  from  that  skirmish  of 

cards, 


And   to  fancy   he   finds  in  the  trivial 

strife 
Some  excellent  hints  for  the  battle  of 

Life; 
Where  —  whether  the  prize  be  a  ribbou 

or  throne  — 
The  winner  is  he  who  can  go  it  alone  ! 

When  great  Galileo  proclaimed  that  the 
world 

In  a  regular  orbit  was  ceaselessly 
whirled, 

And  got  —  not  a  convert  —  for  all  of 
his  pains, 

But  only  derision  and  prison  and  chains, 

"It  moves,  for  all  that!  "  was  his  an- 
swering tone, 

For  he  knew,  like  the  Earth,  he  could 
go  it  alone ! 

When   Kepler,   with   intellect  piercing 

afar, 
Discovered  the  laws  of  each  planet  and 

star, 
And  doctors,  who  ought  to  have  landed 

his  name, 
Derided  his  learning,  and  blackened  his 

fame, 
"I  can   wait!"   he  replied,    "till    the 

truth  you  shall  own  "  ; 
For  he  felt  in  his  heart  he  could  go  it 

alone ! 

Alas !  for  the  player  who  idly  depends, 
In  the  struggle  of  life,  upon  kindred  or 

friends ; 
Whatever  the  value  of  blessings  like 

these, 
They  can   never  atone  for  inglorious 

ease, 
Nor  comfort  the  coward  who  finds,  with 

a  groan, 
That  his  crutches  have  left  him  to  go  it 

alone ! 

There  's    something,  no  doubt,  in   the 

hand  you  may  hold, 
Health,   family,   culture,  wit,    beauty, 

and  gold 

The  fortunate  owner  may  fairly  regard 
As,  each  in  its  way,  a  most  excellent 

card; 
Yet  the  game  may  be   lost,   with  all 

these  for  your  own, 
Unless  you  've  the  courage  to  go  it  alone ' 

In  battle  or  business,  whatever  the  game 
In  law  or  in  love,  it  is  ever  the  same  ; 


ABOUT  HUSBANDS. 


41 


£n  the  struggle  for  power,  or  the  scram- 
ble for  pelf, 

Let  this  be  your  motto,  —  Rely  on  your- 
self I 

For,  whether  the  prize  he  a  ribbon  or 
throne, 

The  victor  is  he  who  can  go  it  aloiie  ! 


THE  PUZZLED  CENSUS  TAKER. 

"  GOT  any  bovs  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 
To  a  lady  from  over  the  Rhine; 

And  the  lady  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !"* 

"  Got  any  girls  ?  "  the  Marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine; 

And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  " 

"  But   some   are   dead  "?  "  the   Marshal 
said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  ! " 

"  Husband   of    course  ?  "    the   Marshal 
said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 
And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  •'  Nein!  " 

"  The  devil  you  have !  "  the   Marshal 
said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine ; 
And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  " 

"Now  what  do  you  mean  by  shaking 
vour  head, 

And  "always  answering,  '  Nine '  ?  " 
"  Ich  kann  nicht  Englisch  !  "  civilly  said 

The  lady  from  over  the  Rhine. 


THE  HEART  AND  THE  LIVER. 

MCSINGS    OF    A   DYSPEPTIC. 


SHE  's  broken-hearted,  I  have  heard, — 
Whate'er  may  be  the  reason 

*  Ntin,  pronounced  nine,  is  the  German  for 
"No." 


(Such  things  will  happen  now  and  tht 
In  Love's  tempestuous  season)  ; 

But  still  I  marvel  she  should  show 
No  plainer  outward  token, 

If  such  a  vital  inward  part 
Were  very  badly  broken  ! 


She  's  broken-hearted,  I  am  told, 

And  so,  of  course,  believe  it; 
When  truth  is  fairly  certified 

I  modestly  receive  it; 
But  after  such  an  accident, 

It  surely  is  a  blessing, 
It  does  n't  in  the  least  impair 

Her  brilliant  style  of  dressing! 


She 's  broken-hearted  :  who  can  doubt 

The  noisy  voice  of  Rumor  "? 
And  yet  she  seems  —  for  such  a  wreck  -~ 

In  no  unhappy  humor ; 
She  sleeps  (I  hear)  at  proper  hours, 

When  other  folks  are  dozy  ; 
Her  eyes  are  sparkling  as  of  yore, 

And  still  her  cheeks  are  rosy ! 

IV. 

She  's  broken-hearted,  and  they  say 

She  never  can  recover  ; 
And  then  —  in  not  the  mildest  way  — - 

They  blame  some  fickle  lover ; 
I  know  she  's  dying  —  by  degrees  — 

But,  sure  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 
I  saw  her  eat,  the  other  day, 

A  most  prodigious  dinner  i 


Alas  !  that  I,  in  idle  rhyme, 

Should  e'er  profanely  question 
(As  I  have  done  while  musing  o'er 

My  chronic  indigestion) 
If  one  should  not  receive  the  blow 

With  blessings  on  the  Giver, 
That  only  falls  upon  the  heart, 

And  kindly  spares  the  LIVER  ! 


ABOUT   HUSBANDS. 

"  A  man  is,  in  general,  better  pleased  when' 
he  has  a  good  dinner  upon  his  table,  than  wheu 
his  wife  speaks  Greek.-'  —  SAM.  JOHNSON. 

JOHNSON  was  right.     I  don't  agree  to  all; 
The  solemn  dogmas  of  the  rough  old, 

stager ; 


WHERE   THERE  'S  A  WILL   THERE  'S  A   WAY. 


But  very  much  approve  what  one  may 

call 

The  minor  morals  of  the  "  Ursa  Ma- 
jor." 

Johnson  was   right.     Although    some 

men  adore 
Wisdom  in  woman,  and  with  learning 

cram  her, 
There  is  n't  one  in  ten  but  thinks  far 

more 

Of  his  own  grub  than  of  his  spouse's 
grammar. 

I  know  it  is  the  greatest  shame  in  life  ; 
But  who  among  them  (save,  perhaps, 

myself) 
Returning  hungry  home,  but  asks  his 

wife 

What    beef  — not    books  — she    has 
upon  the  shelf  ? 

Though  Greek  and  Latin  be  the  lady's 

boast, 
They  're  little  valued  by  her  loving 

mate ; 

The  kind  of  tongue  that  husband's  rel- 
ish most 

Is  modern,  boiled,  and  served  upon  a 
plate. 

Or  if,  as  fond  ambition  may  command, 
Some    home-made   verse    the    happy 

matron  show  him, 
What  mortal  spouse  but  from  her  dait.ty 

hand 

Would  sooner  see  a  pudding  than  a 
poem  ? 

Young  lady,  —  deep  in  love  with  Tom 

or  Harry,  — 
'T  is  sad  to  tell  you  such  a  tale  as 

this ; 
But   here  's  the   moral  of    it :  Do  not 

marry ; 
Or,  marrying,  take  your  lover  as  he  is, 

A   very    man,  with  something   of    the 

brute 

{Unless  he  prove  a  sentimental  noddy), 
With   pas-ions  strong  and   appetite  to 

boot, 
A  thirsty  soul  within  a  hungry  body. 

A  very   man,  —  not    one    of    nature's 

clods,— 
.  .With,  human  failings,  whether  saint 

or  M iiner; 


Endowed,  perhaps,  with  genius  from  the 

gods, 

But  apt  to  take  his  temper  from  hii 
dinner. 


WHERE    THERE  'S   A  WILL 
THERE  'S  A   WAY. 

"  Aut  vi&m  inveniam,  ant  faciam.  ' 

IT  was  a  noble  Roman, 

In  Home's  imperial  day, 
Who  heard  a  coward  croaker, 

Before  the  Castle,  say  : 
"  They  're  safe  in  such  a  fortress; 

The're  is  no  way  to  shake  it !  " 
"  On  —  on!  "  exclaimed  the  hero, 

"  /  '//  find  a  u'liy,  or  make  it !  " 

Is  Fame  your  aspiration  ? 

Her  path  is  steep  aud  high; 
In  vain  he  seeks  her  temple, 

Content  to  gaze  and  sigh  : 
The  shining  throne  is  waiting, 

But  he  alone  can  take  it 
Who  sa\  s,  with  Roman  firmness 

"  I'll  find  a  way,  at-  make  it  !  " 

Is  Learning  your  ambition  ? 

There  is  no  royal  road ; 
Alike  the  peer  aiid  peasant 

Must  climb  to  her  abode  : 
Who  feels  the  thirst  of  knowieJg*, 

In  Helicon  may  slake  it, 
If  he  has  still  the  Roman  will 

"  'J'ofind  a  way,  or  make  it !  '' 

Are  Riches  worth  the  getting  ? 

They  must  be  bravely  sought; 
With  wishing  and  with  fretting 

The  boon  cannot  be  bought : 
To  all  the  prize  is  open, 

But  only  he  can  take  it 
Who  says,  with  Roman  courage, 

"  I'll  find  a  way,  or  make  it  !  " 

In  Lore's  impassioned  warfare 

The  tale  has  ever  been, 
That  victory  crowns  the  valiant,  — 

The  brave  are  they  who  win : 
Though  strong  is  Beauty's  castle, 

A  lover  still  make  take  it, 
Who  says,  with  Roman  daring, 

"  I'll  find  a  tvni/,  or  make  it  !  " 


A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL   TO  A  BACHELOR. 


43 


A.    BENEDICT'S    APPEAL   TO    A 
BACHELOR. 

"  Double  !  double  !  "  —  SHAKESPEARE. 


DE  VR  CHARLES,  be  persuaded  to  wed,  — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  you, 
It 's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two! 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and  de- 
laying, — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  saying 

'T  is  singular  you  should  be  single  ! 


Don't  say  that  you  have  n't  got  time, 

That  business  demands  your  atten- 
tion, 
There 's  not  the  least  reason  nor  rhyme 

In   the  wisest  excuse  you  can  men- 
tion 
Don't  tell  me  about  "  other  fish,  "  - 

Your  duty  is  done  when  you  buy  'em ; 
And  you  never  will  relish  the  dish, 

Unless  you  've  a  woman  to  fry  'em ! 


Don't  listen  to  querulous  stories 

By  desperate  damsels  related, 
Who  sneer  at  connubial  glories, 

Because  they  've  known  couples  mis- 
mated. 
Such  people,  if  they  had  their  pleasure, 

Because  silly  bargains  are  made, 
Would  deem  it  a  rational  measure 

To  lay  an  embargo  on  trade  ! 


V'ou  may  dream  of  poetical  fame, 

But  your  wishes  may  chance  to  mis- 
carry ; 
The  best  way  of  sending  one's  name 

To  posterity,  Charles,  is  to  marry 
And  here  I  am  willing  to  own, 

After  soberly  thinking  upon  it, 
I  'd  very  much  rather  be  known 

For  a  beautiful  son,  than  a  sonnet ! 


ry  ! 


To  Procrastination  be  deaf 

(A  homily  sent  from  above), — 

The  scoundrel 's  not  only  "  the  thief 
Of  time,"  but  of  beauty  and  love! 

Oh,  delay  not  one  moment  to  win 
A  prize  that  is  truly  worth  winning 


Celibacy,  Charles,  is  a  sin, 
And  sadly  prolific  of  siuning ! 


Then  pray  bid  your  doubting  good-by, 

And  dismiss  all  fantastic  alarms. 
I'll  be  sworn  you  've  a  girl  in  your 
eye 

'T  is  your    duty  to    have    in    your 

arms ! 
Some  trim  little  maiden  of  twenty, 

A  beautiful,  azure-eyed  elf, 
With  virtues  and  graces  in  plenty, 

And  no  failing  but  loving  yourself  ! 


Don't  search  for  "  an  angel "  a  minute ; 

For  granting  you  win  in  the  sequel, 
The  deuce,  after  all,  would  be  in  it, 

With  a  union  so  very  unequal ! 
The  angels,  it  must  be  confessed, 

In  this  world  are  rather  uncommon  ; 
And   allow  me,  dear    Charles,  to  sug- 
gest 

You  '11    be    better    content    with    a 
woman ! 

VIII. 

I  could  furnish  a  bushel  of  reasons 

For  choosing  a  conjugal  mate : 
It  agrees   with  all   climates  and    sea- 
sons, 

And  gives  you  a  "  double  estate  " ! 
To  one's  parents  't  is  (gratefully)  due, — 

Just  think  what  a  terrible  thing 
'T  would  have  been,  sir,  for  me  and  for 
you, 

If  ours  had  forgotten  the  ring ! 


Then  there 's  the  economy  —  clear, 

By  poetical  algebra  shown,  — 
If  your  wife  has  a  grief  or  a  fear, 

One  half,  by  the  law,  is  your  own  f 
And  as  to  the  joys — by  division, 

They  're  nearly  quadrupled,  't  is  said 
(Though  I  never  could  see  the  addition 

Quite  plain  in  the  item  of  bread). 


Remember,  I  do  not  pretend 

There  's  anything  "  perfect "  about  it, 
But  this  I  '11  aver  to  the  end, 

Life  's  very  imperfect  without  it. 
'T  is  not  that  there  's  "  poetry  "  in  it,  — 

As,  doubtless,  there  may  be  to  those 
Endowed  with  a  genius  to  win  it,  — 

But  I  '11  warrant  you  excellent  prose! 


44 


"DO   YOU  THINK  HE  IS  MARRIED f 


Then,  Charles,  be  persuaded  to  wed, — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  you, 
It '»  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two; 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and  de- 
laying, — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  saying 

'T  is  singular  you  should  be  single ! 


THE  GHOST-PLAYER. 

A   BALLAD. 

TOM  GOODWIN  was  an  actor-man, 
Old  Drurv's  pride  and  boast 

In  all  the  light  and  sprite-ly  parts, 
Especially  the  Ghost. 

Now,  Tom  was  very  fond  of  drink, 

Of  almost  every  sort. 
Comparative  and  positive, 

From  porter  up  to  port. 

But  grog,  like  grief,  is  fatal  stuff 

For  any  man  to  sup  ; 
For  when  it  fails  to  pull  him  down, 

It 's  sure  to  blow  him  up. 

And  so  it  fared  with  ghostly  Tom, 

Who  day  by  day  was  seen 
A-swelling",  till  (as  lawyers  say  ) 

He  fairly  lost  his  lean. 

At  length  the  manager  observed 

He  'd  better  leave  his  post, 
And  said  he  plaved  the  very  deuce 

Whene'er  he  played  the  Ghost. 

T  was  only  t'  other  night  he  saw 

A  fellow  swing  his  hat, 
And  heard  him  cry,  "  By  all  the  gods  ! 

The  Ghost  is  getting  fat ! " 

'T  would  never  do,  the  case  was  plain  ; 

His  eyes  he  couldn't  shut ; 
Ghosts  should  n't  make  the  people  laugh, 

And  Tom  was  quite  a  butt. 

Tom's  actor  friends  said  ne'er  a  word 
To  cheer  his  drooping  heart ; 

Though   more  than  one   was   burning 

up 
With  z  al  to  "  take  his  part." 


Tom  argued  very  plausibly  ; 

He  said  he  did  n't  doubt 
That    Hamlet's    father    drank,    and 
grew, 

In  years,  a  little  stout. 

And  so  't  was  natural,  he  said, 

And  quite  a  proper  plan, 
To  have  Ins  spirit  represent 

A  portly  sort  of  man. 

'T  was  all  in  vain,  the  manager 

Said  he  was  not  in  sport, 
And,  like  a  gen'ral,  bade  poor  Tom 

Surrender  up  his^orfe. 

He  "d  do,  perhaps,  in  heavy  parts, 
Might  answer  for  a  monk, 

Or  porter  to  the  elephant, 
To  carry  round  his  trunk  ; 

But  in  the  Ghost  his  day  was  past, — 

He  'd  never  do  for  that ; 
A  Ghost  might  just  as  well  be  dead 

As  plethoric  and  fat ! 

Alas  !  next  day  poor  Tom  was  found 

As  stiff  as  any  post ; 
For  he  had  lost  his  character, 

And  given  up  the  Ghost ! 


"DO  YOU  THINK    HE   IS    MAR. 
RIED  ?  " 

MADAM,  — you  are  very  pressing, 
And  I  can't  decline  the  task  ; 

With  the  slightest  gift  of  guessing, 
You  would  scarcely  need  to  ask. 

Don't  yon  see  a  hint  of  marriage 

In  his  sober-sided  face  ? 
In  his  rather  careless  carriage, 

And  extremely  rapid  pace  ? 

If  he  's  not  committed  treason, 
Or  some  wicked  action  done, 

Can  you  see  the  faintest  reason 
Why  a  bachelor  should  run  ? 

Why  should  he  be  in  a  flurry  ? 

But  a  loving  wife  to  greet 
Is  a  circumstance  to  hurry 

The  most  dignified  of  feet. 

When  afar  the  man  has  spied  her, 
If  the  grateful,  happy  elf 


A    COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE. 


45 


Does  not  haste  to  he  beside  her, 
He  must  be  beside  himself ! 

Ir  is  but  a  trifle,  maybe,  — 

But  observe  his  practiced  tone, 

When  lie  calms  your  stormy  baby, 
Just  as  if  it  were  his  own  ! 

Do  you  think  a  certain  meekness 
You  have  mentioned  in  his  looks 

Is  a  chronic  optic  weakness 

That  has  come  of  reading  books  ? 

Did  you  ever  see  his  vision 
Peering  underneath  a  hood, 

Save  enough  for  recognition, 
As  a  civil  person  should  ? 

Could  a  Capuchin  be  colder 
When  he  glances,  as  he  must, 

At  a  finely  rounded  shoulder, 
Or  a  proudly  swelling  bust? 

Madam,  think  of  every  feature, 
Then  deny  it,  if  you  can, 

He  's  a  fond'  connubial  creature, 
And  a  very  married  man  ! 


A   COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE. 

ADDRESSED     TO      THOMAS      B.     THORPE, 
ESQ.,   OF   NEW    ORLEANS. 

DEAR  TOM,  have  you  forgot  the  day 
When,  long  ago,  we  used  to  stray 

Among  the  "  Had  dams  "  ? 
Where,  in  the  mucky  road,  a  man 
(The  road  was  built" on  Adam's  plan, 

And  not  McAdam's !) 

Went  down  —  down  —  down,  one  stor- 
my night, 
And  disappeared  from  human  sight 

All  save  his  hat, — 
Which  raised  in  sober  minds  a  sense 
Of  some  mysterious  Providence 

In  sparing  that  ? 

I  think  't  will  please  you,  Tom,  to  hear 
The  man  who  in  that  night  of  fear 

Went  down  terrestrial, 
Worked  out  a  passage  like  a  miner, 
And,    pricking    through    somewhere  in 
China, 

Came  up  Celestial ! 


Ah  !  tho^e  were  memorable  times, 
And  worth  embalming  in  my  rhymes, 

When,  at  the  summons 
Of  chapel  bell,  we  left  our  sport 
For  lessons  most  uncommon  short, 

Or  shorter  commons  1 

I  mind  me,  Tom,  you  often  drew 
Nice  portraits,  and  exceeding  true  —  . 

To  your  intention  ! 
The  most  impracticable  faces 
Discovered  unsuspected  graces, 

By  your  invention. 

On  brainless  heads  the  finest  humps 
( Erected  by  your  pencil-thumps) 

Were  plainly  seen ; 
Your  Yankees  all  were  very  Greek, 
Unchpsen     aunts    grew    "  choice    an1 
tique," 

And  blues  turned  green  ! 

The  swarthy  suddenly  were  fair, 
And  yellow'changed  to  auburn  hair 

Or  sunny  flax ; 

And  people  very  thin  and  flat, 
Like  Aldermen  grew  round  and  fat 

On  canvas-backs ! 

I  well  rememher  all  your  art 

To  make  the  best  of  every  part, — 

I  am  certain  no  man 
Could  better  coax  a  wrinkle  out, 
Or  elevate  a  lowly  snout, 

Or  snub  a  Roman  ! 

Young  gentlemen  with  leaden  eyes 
Stared  wildly  out  on  lowering  skies, 

Quite  Corsair-fashion ; 
And  greenish  orbs  got  very  blue. 
And  linsey-woolsey  maidens  grew 

Almost  Circassian ! 

And  many  an  ancient  maiden  aunt 
As  lean  and  lank  as  John  O'Gaunt, 

Or  even  lanker, 

By  art  transformed  and  newly  drest, 
Could  boast  for  once  as  full  a  chest 

As  —  any  banker ! 

Ah  !  we  were  jolly  youngsters  then, 
But  now  we  're  sober-sided  men, 

Half  through  life's  journey ; 
And  you  've   turned    author,   Tom, 

hear,  — 
And  I — you'll  think  it  very  queer  — 

Have  turned  attorney  1 


•16 


THE  LADY  ANN. 


Heaven  bless  yon,  Tom,  in  house  and 

heart ! 
(That  we  should  live  so  far  apart 

Is  much  a  pity,) 

And  may  you  multiply  your  name, 
And  have  a  very  "crescent"  fame, 

Just  like  your  city  ! 


EARLY  RISING. 

"  GOD  bless  the  man  who  first  invented 

sleep  !  " 

So  Sancho  Panza  said,  and  so  say  I: 
And    bless    him,  also,  that    he  did  n't 

keep 
His  great  discovery  to  himself;  nor 

try 
To    make    it  —  as    the    lucky    fellow 

might  — 
A  close  monopoly  by  patent-right ! 

Yes;  bless  the  man  who  first  invented 

sleep 
(I  really  can't  avoid  the  iteration ) ; 

But  blast  the  man,  with  curses  loud  and 

deep, 

Whate'er  the  rascal's  name,  or  age, 
or  station, 

Who  first  invented,  and  went  round  ad- 
vising, 

That  artificial  cut-off,  —  Early  Rising  ! 

"  Rise  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark 

to  bed," 
Observes  some    solemn,   sentimental 

owl; 
Maxims  like  these  are  very   cheaply 

said; 
But,  ere  yon  make  yourself  a  fool  or 

fowl, 

Pray  just  inquire  about  his  rise  and  fall, 
iVnd  whether  larks  have   any  beds  at 

all! 

The  time  for  honest  folks  to  be  abed 
Is  in  the  morning,  if  I  reason  right; 

And  he  who  cannot  keep  his  precious 

Jiead 
Upon  his  pillow  till  it 's  fairly  light, 

And  so  enjoy  his  forty  morning  winks, 

Is  up  to  knavery  ;  or  else  —  he  drinks ! 

Thomson,  who  sung  about  the  ''Sea- 
sons," said 

It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  rise  in  sea- 
son ; 


But   then  he  said    it  —  lying  —  in    hw 

bed, 
At  ten  o'clock,  A.  M.,  —  the  very  rea- 

son 
He  wrote  so  charmingly.     The  simple 

fact  is, 
His  preaching  was  n't  sanctioned  by  his 

practice. 

'Tis,  doubtless,  well  to   be   sometimes: 

awake,  — 

Awake  to  duty,  and  awake  to  truth,  — 
But  when,  alas!  a  nice  review  we  take 
Of  our  best  deeds  and  days,  we  find, 

in  sooth, 
The  hours  that  leave  the  slightest 

to  weep 
Are  those  we  passed   in  childhood  or 

asleep  ! 

'T  is  beautiful  to  leave  the  world  awhile 
For   the    soft   visions  of   the    gentle 

night  ; 
And  free,  at  last,  from  mortal  care  or 

pile, 

To  live  as  only  in  the  angels'  sii/ht, 
In  sleep's  sweet  realm  so  cosily  shut  in, 
Where,  at  the  worst,  we  only  dream  of 


So  let   us  sleep,  and   give  the  Maker 

praise. 
I  like  the  lad  who,  when  his  father 

thought 
To  clip  his  morning  nap  by  hackneyed 

]>hr;ise 
Of  vagrant  worm   by  early  songster 

caught, 
Cried,  "  Served  him  right  !  —  it  's  not  at 

all  surprising  ; 
The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  for  early 

rising  !  " 


THE  LADY  ANN. 

A    BALLAD. 

"  SHE  'LL  soon  be  here,  the  Lady  Ann,' 

The  children  cried  in  glee  ; 
"  She  always  comes  at  four  o'clock, 

And  now  it  *s  striking  three." 

At  stroke  of  four  the  lady  came, 

A  lady  passing  fair  ; 
And  she  sat  and  gazed  adown  the  road. 

With  a  long  and  eager  stare. 


BOW  THE  MONEY  GOES. 


47 


*  The  mail !  the  mail ! "  the  idlers  cried, 
At  sight  of  a  coach-and-foar ; 

*  The   mail  !   the  mail ! "   and  at   the 

word, 
The  coach  was  at  the  door. 

Up  sprang  in  haste  the  Lady  Ann, 
And  marked  with  anxious  eye 

The  travelers,  who,  one  by  on«, 
Were  slowly  passing  by. 

"  Alack  !  alack  !  "  the  lady  cried, 

"  He  surely  named  to-day ; 
He  '11    come    to-morrow,   then,"    she 
sighed, 

And,  turning,  strolled  away. 

"  'T  is  passing  odd,  upon  my  word," 

The  landlord  now  began  ; 
"A  strange   romance!  —  that  woman, 
sirs, 

Is  called  the  Lady  Ann. 

"  She  dwells  hard  by  upon  the  hill, 

The  widow  of  Sir  John, 
Who  died  abroad,  come  August  next, 

Just  twenty  years  agone. 

"  A  hearty  neighbor,  sirs,  was  he, 

A  hold,  true-hearted  man  ; 
And  a  fonder  pair  was  seldom  seen 

Than  he  and  Lady  Ann. 

"  They  scarce  had  been  a  twelvemonth 
"wed, 

When  —  ill  betide  the  day  !  — 
Sir  John  was  called  to  go  in  haste 

Some  hundred  miles  away. 

"  Ne'er  lovers  in  the  fairy  tales 

A  truer  love  could  boast ; 
And  many  were  the  gentle  words 

That  came  and  went  by  post. 

•*  A  month  or  more  had  passed  away, 
When  by  the  post  came  down 

The  joyous  n<-ws  that  such  a  day 
Sir  John  would  be  in  town. 

"  Full  gleosome  was  the  Lady  Ann 

To  read  the  welcome  word, 
And  promptly  at  the  hour  she  came, 

To  meet  her  wedded  lord. 

"Alas!  alas!  he  came  not  back. 

There  only  came  instead 
&  monrnful'message  by  the  post, 

That  good  Sir  John  was  dead  ! 


"  One  piercing  shriek,  and  Lady  Ann 
Had  .swooned  upon  the  floor: 

Good  i-irs.  it  was  a  fearful  grief 
That  gentle  lady  bore ! 

"  We  raised  her  up;  her  ebbing  life 

Began  again  to  dawn  ; 
She  muttered  wildly  to  herself,  — 

'T  was  plain  her  wits  were  gone. 

"  A  strange  forgetfulness  came  o'er 

Her  sad,  bewildered  rnind, 
And  to  the  grief  that  drove  her  mad 

Her  memory  was  blind  ! 

"  Ah  !  since  that  hour  she  little  wots 

Full  twenty  years  are  fled  ! 
She  little  wots"  poor  Lady  Ann ! 

Her  wedded  lord  is  dead. 

"  But  each  returning  day  she  deems 

The  day  he  fixed  to  come ; 
And  ever  at  the  wonted  hour 

She 's  here  to  greet  him  home. 

"  And  when  the  coach  is  at  the  door, 

She  marks  with  eager  eye 
The  travelers,  as  one  by  one 

They  're  slowly  passing  by. 

"  '  Alack  ! '  she  cries,  in  plaintive  tone, 

'  He  surely  named  to-day  ! 
He  'II  come  to-morrow,  then,'  she  sighs, 

And,  turning,  strolls  away." 


HOW  THE  MONEY  GOES. 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Well, 

I  'm  sure  it  is  n't  hard  to  tell ; 

It  goes  for  rent  and  water-rates, 

For  bread  and  butter,  coal  and  grates, 

Hats,    caps,  and    carpets,    hoops    and 

hose,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Nay, 
Don't  everybody  know  the  way? 
It  goes  for  bonnets,  coats,  and  capes, 
Silks,  satins,  muslins,  velvets,  crapes, 
Shawls,  ribbons,  furs,  and  furbelows,— 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes  ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Sure, 

I  wish  the  ways  were  something  fewer; 

It  goes  for  wages,  taxes,  debts ; 

It  goes  for  presents,  goes  for  bets, 


48 


SATNT  JONATHAN. 


For  paint,  pomma.de,  and  ean  tie  rose, — 
And  that  's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Now, 
I  've  scarce  begun  to  mention  how ; 
It  goes  for  laces,  feathers,  rings, 
Toys,  dolls — and  other  baby-things, 
Whips,    whistles,    candies, '  bells,    and 

bows,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Come, 

I  know  it  does  n't  go  for  rum  ; 

It  goes  for  schools  and  sabbath  chimes, 

It  goes  for  charity  —  sometimes ; 

For  missions,  and  such  tilings  :is  those,  — 

And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  There  ! 
I  'm  out  of  patience,,  I  declare  ; 
It  goes  for  plays,  and  diamond  pins, 
For  public  alms,  and  private  sins, 
For  hollow  shams,  and  silly  shows, — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money  goes ! 


SAINT  JONATHAN. 

THERE  's  many  an  excellent  Saint,  — 

St.    George,    with    his    dragon   and 

lance ; 
St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint ; 

St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance  ; 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul ; 

St.  Andrew,  the  saint  of  the  Scot ; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot ! 

He  wears  a  most  serious  face, 

Well  worthy  a  martyr's  possessing  ; 
But,  it  is  n't  all  owing  to  grace, 

But    partly   to  thinking   and   guess- 
ing; 
In  sooth,  our  American  Saint 

Has  rather  a  secular  bias, 
And  I  never  have  heard  a  complaint 

Of  his  being  excessively  pious  ! 

He  's  fond  of  financial  improvement, 

And  is  always  extremely  inclined 
To  be  starting  some  practical  movement 

For  mending  the  morals  and  mind. 
Do  you  ask  me  what  wonderful  labors 

ST.  JONATHAN  ever  has  done 
To  rank  with  his  Calendar  neighbors? 

Just  listen,  a  moment,  to  one  : 


One  day  when  a  flash  in  the  air 

Split  his  meeting  house  fairlv  asun- 
der, 

Quoth  JONATHAN,  "Now,  I  declare, 
They  're    dreadfully     careless    with 

thunder ! " 

So  he  fastened  a  rod  to  the  steeple  ; 
And  now,  when  the  lightning  comes 

round, 

He  keeps  it  from  building  and  people, 
By  running  it  into  the  ground  ! 

Kefleeting,  with  pleasant  emotion, 

On  the  capital  job  he  had  done, 
Quoth  JONATHAN  :  "I  have  a  notion 

Improvements  have  barely  begun  ; 
If  nothing  's  created  in  vain"  — 

As  ministers  often  inform  us,  — 
The  lightning  that  's   wasted,   't  is 
plain 

Is  reallv  something  enormous  ! " 

While  ciphering  over  the  thing, 

At  length  he  discovered  a  plan 
To  catch  the  Electrical  King, 

And  make  him  the  servant  of  man  ; 
And  now,  in  an  orderly  way, 

He  flies  on  the  fleete'st  of  pinions, 
And  carries  the  news  of  the  day 

All  over  his  master's  dominions  ! 

One  morning,  while  taking  a  stroll, 

He  heard  a  lugubrious  cry,  — 
Like  the  shriek  of  a  suffering  soul, — 

In  a  Hospital  s'anding  near  by ; 
Anon,  such  a  terrible  groan 

Saluted  St.  JONATHAN'S  ear 
That    his    bosom  —  which  was  n't    oi 
stone  — 

Was  melted  with  pity  to  hear. 

That  night  he  invented  a  charm 

So  potent  that  folks  who  employ  it, 
In  losing  a  leg  or  an  arm, 

Don't  suffer,  but  rather  enjoy  it! 
A  miracle,  you  must  allow, 

As  good  as  the  best  of  his  brothers,— 
And  blessed  ST.  JONATHAN  now 

Is  patron  of  cripples  and  mothers  1 

There  's  many  an  excellent  Saint,  — 

St.  George"  with  his  dragon  and  lance 
St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint; 

St..  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance; 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul  ; 

St.  Andrew,  the  saint  of  the  Scot ; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot  1 


TALE   OF  A  DOG. 


SONG  OF  SARATOGA. 

"  PRAY,     what    do    they    do    at  the 
Springs  ?  " 

The  question  is  easy  to  ask  ; 
But  to  answer  it  fully,  my  dear, 

Were  rather  a  serious  task. 
And  yet,  in  a  bantering  way, 

As    the    magpie    or    mocking-bird 

sings, 
I  Ml  venture  a  bit  of  a  song 

To  tell  what  they  do  at  the  Springs  ! 

Imprimis,  my  darling,  they  drink 

The  waters  so  sparkling  and  clear ; 
Though  the  flavor  is  none  of  the  best, 

And  the  odor  exceedingly  queer ; 
But  the  fluid  is  mingled,  you  know, 

With  wholesome  medicinal  things, 
So  thev  drink,  and  they  drink,  and  they 
drink,— 

And    that 's   what    they    do    at   the 
Springs ! 

Then  with  appetites  keen  as  a  knife, 

They  hasten  to  breakfast  or  dine 
(The  latter  precisely  at  three. 

The  former  from  seven  till  nine). 
Ye  gods !  what  a  rustle  and  rush 

When  the  eloquent  dinner-bell  rings! 
Then  they  eat,  and  they  eat,  and  they 
eat, — 

And    that 's    what  they    do   at   the 
Springs  ! 

Now  they  stroll  in  the  beautiful  walks, 

Or  loll  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  ; 
Where  many  a  whisper  is  heard 

That  never  is  told  by  the  breeze  ; 
And    hands     are     commingled    with 

hands, 

Regardless  of  conjugal  rings  ; 
And  they  flirt,  and  they  flirt,  and  they 

flirt,— 

And   that's    what    they    do    at   the 
Springs ! 

Tlie  drawing-rooms  now  are  ablaze, 

And  music  is  shrieking  away; 
Terpsichore  governs  the  hour, 

And  Fashion  was  never  so  gay  ! 
An  arm  round  a  tapering  waist, 

How  closely  and  fondly  it  clings! 
So  they  waltz,  and  th<>y  waltz,  and  tney 
waltz,  — 

And    that  's    what   they   do   at   the 
Springs ! 


In  short  —  as  it  goes  in  the  world  — 
They  eat,  and  they  drink,  and  they 

sleep ; 
They   talk,   and   they  walk,   and   they 

woo ; 
They  sigh,  and  they  laugh,  and  they 

weep; 
They   read,    and   they    ride,   and   they 

dance 

(Witli  other  unspeakable  things) ; 
They    pray,  and  they  play,  and  they 

P«y>  — 

And    that  's    what  they   do  at  the 
Springs ! 


TALE  OF  A  DOG. 

IN    TWO  PARTS. 
PART  FIRST. 

I. 
"  CURSE  on  all  curs  !  "  I  heard  a  cynic 

cry; 
A      wider      malediction      than     he 

thought,  — 
For  what 's  a  cynic  ?  —  Had  he  cast  his 

eye 

Within  his  dictionary,  he  had  caught 
This  much  of  learning^  —  the  untutored 

elf,— 

That  he,  unwittingly,  had  cursed  him- 
self! 


"  Beware  of  dogs,"  the  great   Apostle 

writes ; 

A  rather  brief  and  sharp  philippic  sent 
To  the  Philippians.     The  paragraph  in- 
vites 

Some  little  question  as  to  its  intent, 
Among  the  best  expositors  ;  but  then 
I  find  they  all  agree  that  "  dogs  "  meant 
men  ! 


Beware    of    men  !    a    moralist    might 

say, 

And  women,  too ;  't  were  but  a  pru- 
dent hint. 

Well  worth    observing  in   a  general 

way, 
But  having  surely  no  conclusion  in  't 

(As  saucy  satirists  are  wont  to  rail), 

All  men  are  faithless,  and  all  women 
frail. 


f>0 


TALE   OF  A  DOG. 


And  so  of  dogs  't  were  wrong  to  dog- 
matize 

Without  discrimination  or  degree  ; 
For  one  may  see,  with  half  a  pair  of 

eyes, 
That  they  have  characters  as  well  as 

we: 

I  hate  the  rascal  who  can  walk  the  street 
Caniug  all  canines  he  may  chance  to 
meet. 


I  had  a  dog  that  was  not  all  a  dog, 
For  in  his  nature  there  was  something 

human ; 

Wisely  he  looked  as  any  pedagogue  ; 
Loved  funerals  and  weddings,  like  a 

woman ; 

With  this  (still  human)  weakness,  I  con- 
fess, 
Of  always  judging  people  by  their  dress. 


I  Io  hated  beggars,  it  was  very  clear, 
And  oft  was  seen  to  drive  them  from 

the  door ; 

Bnt  that  was  education  ;  —  for  a  year, 

Ere  yet  Iiis  puppyhood  was  fairly  o'er, 

He    lived  with    a  Philanthropist,  and 

caught 
Ills  practices  ;  the  precepts  he  forgot ! 


Which  was  a  pity  ;  yet  the  dog,  I  grant, 
Led,   on   the   whole,  a  verv   worthy 

life. 
To  teach  you   industry,    "  Go   to  the 

ant'' 
(I  mean  the  insect,  not  your  uncle's 

wife); 
But  —  though  the  counsel  sounds  a  little 

rude  — 
Go  to  the  dogs,  for  love  and  gratitude. 

PART  SECOND 


*  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  the  poet 

fries  ;* 
A   downright    insult    to    the  canine 

race; 
There  's  not  a  puppy  but  is  far  too  wise 

To  put  a  pill  or  powder  in  his  face. 
Perhaps  the  poet  merely  meant  to  say, 
That  physic,  thrown  to  dogs,  is  thrown 
away,  — 


Which  (as   the  parson  said  about  the 

dice) 

Is  the  best  throw  that  any  man  can 
choose ; 

Take,  if    you  're   ailing,  medical    ad- 
vice,— 

Minus     the    medicine,  —  which,    of 
course,  refuse. 

Drugging,  no  doubt,  occasioned  Homoa- 
opathy, 

And  all  the  dripping  horrors  of  Hydrop- 
athy. 


At  all  events,  't  is  fitting  to  remark, 
Dogs  spurn  at  drugs  ;  their  daily  bark 

and  whine 

Are  not  at  all  the  musty  wine  and  bark 
The  doctors  give  to  patients  in  de- 
cline; 
And  yet   a  dog  who  felt  a  fracture's 

'smart 

Once  thanked  a  kind  chirurgeon  for  his 
art. 


I  'vc  heard  a  story,  and  believe  it  true, 
About  a  dog  that  chanced  to  break 

his  leg ; 

His  master  set  it,  and  the  member  grew 
Once  more  a  sound  and  serviceable 

peg ; 
And  how  d'  ye  think  the  happy  dog  ex- 

prest 
The  grateful   feelings   of   his  glowing 

breast  ? 


'T  was  not   in  words  ;   the  customary 

pay 

Of  human  debtors  for  a  friendly  net ; 
For  dogs  their  thoughts  can  neither  sing 

nor  say 
E'en  in  "  dog-latin,"  which  (a  curious 

fact) 

Is  spoken  only  —  as  a  classic  grace  — 
By  grave  Professors  of  the  human  yce  ! 

XIII. 

No,  't  was  in  deed  ;  the  very  briefest  tail 
Declared    his   deep  emotions   at    his 

cure  ; 
Short,  but  significant; — one  could  not 

fail, 

From  the  mere  wagging  of  his  cyno 
sure 


THE  JOLLY  MARINER. 


51 


Surgens  e  puppi "),  and  his  ears  agog, 
o  see  the  fellow  was  a  grateful  dog  ! 


One  day  —  still  mindful  of  his  late  dis- 
aster- 
He  wandered  off  the  village   to  ex- 
plore ; 

And  brought  another  dog  unto  his  mas- 
ter, 
Lame  of  a  leg,  as  he  had  been  before ; 

As  who  should  say,  "  You  see !  —  the  dog 
is  lame : 

You  doctored  me,  pray  doctor  him  the 
same ! " 


So  runs   the  story,  and  you    have  it 

cheap, — 
Dog-cheap,  as  doubtless  such  a  tale 

should  be ; 

The  moral,  surely,  is  n't  hard  to  reap :  — 
Be   prompt    to    listen    unto   mercy's 

plea ; 
The  good  you  get,  diffuse ;  it  will  not 

hurt  you 
E'en  from   a  dog  to  learn  a  Christian 

virtue ! 


THE  JOLLY  MARINER. 


A    BALLAD. 

IT  was  a  jolly  mariner 

As  ever  hove  a  log  ; 
He  wore  his  trousers  wide  and  free, 

And  always  ate  his  prog, 
And  blessed*  his  eyes,  in  sailor-wise, 

And  never  shirked  his  grog. 

Up  spoke  this  jol'y  mariner, 

Whilst  walking  up  and  down  :  — 

u  The  briny  sea  has  pickled  me, 
And  done  me  verv  brown  ; 

But  here  I  goes,  in  these  here  clo'es, 
A-cruising  in  the  town  ! " 

The  first  of  all  the  curious  things 
That  chanced  his  eye  to  meet, 

As  thi.s  undaunted  mariner 
Went  sailing  up  the  street, 

Was,  tripping  with  a  little  cane, 
A  dandy  all  complete  ! 

He  stopped,  —  that  jolly  mariner,  — 
Aud  eyed  the  stranger  well :  — 


"  What  that  may  be,"  he  said,  says  he, 

"  Is  more  than  I  can  tell ; 
But  ne'er  before,  on  sea  or  shore, 

Was  such  a  heavy  swell !  " 

He  met  a  lady  in  her  hoops, 
And  thus  she  heard  him  hail :  — 

"  Now   blow  me  tight !   but  there  "s  a 

sight 
To  manage  in  a  gale ! 

I  never  saw  so  small  a  craft 
With  such  a  spread  o'  sail ! 

"  Observe  the  craft  before  and  aft,  — 
She  'd  make  a  pretty  prize !  " 

And  then  in  that  improper  way 
He  spoke  about  his  e\es, 

That  mariners  are  wont  to  use 
In  anger  or  surprise. 

He  saw  a  plumber  on  a  roof, 
Who  made  a  mighty  din  :  — 

"  Shipmate,  ahoy  !  "  the  rover  cried, 
"  It  makes  a  sailor  grin 

To  see  you  copper-bottoming 
Your  upper  decks  with  tin  !  " 

He  met  a  yellow-bearded  man, 

And  asked  about  the  way ; 
But  not  a  word  could  he  make  out 

Of  what  the  chap  would  say, 
Unless  he  meant  to  call  him  names, 

By  screaming,  "  Nix  f  urstay ! " 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 
And  to  the  man  said  he  :  — 

"  I  have  n't  sailed  these  thirty  years 
Upon  the  stormy  sea, 

To  bear  the  shame  of  such  a  name 
As  I  have  heard  from  thee ! 

"  So  take  thou  that !  "  —  and  laid  him 
flat; 

But  soon  the  man  arose, 
And  beat  the  jolly  mariner 

Across  his  jolly  nose, 
Till  he  was  fain,  from  very  pain, 

To  yield  him  to  the  blows. 

'Twas  then  this  jolly  mariner, 

A  wretched  jolly  tar, 
Wished  he  was  in  a  jolly-boat 

Upon  the  sea  afar, 
Or  riding  fast,  before  the  blast, 

Upon  a  single  spar ! 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner 
Returned  unto  his  ship, 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


And  told  unto  the  wondering  crew 

The  story  of  his  trip, 
With  many  oaths  and  corses,  too, 

Upon  his  wicked  lip ! 

As  hoping  —  so  this  mariner 
In  fearful  words  harangued  — 

His  timers  niiuht  he  shivered   and 
His  le'ward  si-uppers  danged, 

(A  double  curse,  aud  vastly  worse 
Than  being  shot  or  hanged  !  ) 

If  ever  he  —  and  here  again 
A  dreadful  oath  he  swore  — 

If  ever  he,  except  at  sea, 
Spoke  any  stranger  more, 

Or  like  a  son  of  —  something  —  went 
A-cruising  on  the  shore  ! 


TOM    BROWN'S    DAY    IN 
GOTHAM. 


'  Qut  mores  homiiium  multorum  vidit  et  vr- 
bem."' 


I  'LL   tell    yon    a    story    of    THOMAS 
BROWN, — 

I  don't   mean  the  poet   of  Shropshire 
town  ; 

Nor  the  Scotch  Professor  of  wide  re- 
nown ; 

But  "  Honest  Tom  Brown  "  ;  so  called, 

no  doubt, 

Because  with  the  same 
Identical  name, 

A  good  many  fellows  were  roving  about 

Of  whom  the  sheriff  might  prudently 
swear 

That  "  honest  "  with  them  was  a  non-est 
affnir ! 

Now  Tom  was  a  Yankee  of  wealth  and 
worth, 

Who  lived   and  throve    by  tilling  the 

earth ; 

For  Tom  had  wrought 
As  a  farmer  ought, 

Who,  doomed  to  toil  by  original  sinning, 

Began  —  like   Adam  —  at   the    begin- 
ning. 

He    ploughed,   he    harrowed,   and    he 
sowed  ; 

He  drilled,  he  planted,  and  he  hoed ; 

He  dug  and   delved,  and    reaped  and 
mowed. 

(I  wish  I  could  —  but  I  can't  —  tell  now 

Whether  he  used  a  subsoil-plough  ; 


Or  whether,  in  sooth,  he  had  ever  seen 
A  regular  reaping  and  raking  machine.) 

He  took  most  pains 

With  the  nobler  grains 
Of  higher  value,  and  finer  tissues, 

Which,  possibly,  oue 

Inclined  to  a  pun, 
Would  call  —  like  Harper  —  his  "  cereal 

issues ! " 

With  wheat  his  lands  were  all  ablaze  ; 
'T  was  amazing  to  look  at  his  fields  oj 
maize  ; 

And  there  were  places 

That  showed  rye-faces 
As  pleasant  to  see  as  so  many  Graces. 

And  as  for  hops, 

His  annual  crops 

(So  very  extensive  that,  on  my  soul, 
They    fairly    reached    from    pole    to 

pole!) 

Would  beat  the  guess  of  any  old  fogie, 
Or  —  the  longest  season  at  Saratoga ! 
Whatever  seed  did  most  abound, 
In  the  grand  result  that  Autnmn  found, 

It  was  his  plan, 

Though  a  moderate  man, 
To  be  early  running  it  into  the  ground ; 

That  is  to  say, 

In  another  way  :  — 
Whether  the  seed  was  barley  or  hay, 
Large  or  little,  or  green  or  gray, — " 
Provided  only  it  promised  to  "  pay,"  — 
He  never  chose  to  labor  in  vain 
By  stupidly  going  against  the  grain. 
But    hastened   away,  without   stay   or 

stop, 
And  carefully  put  it  into  his  crop. 

And  he  raised  tomatoes 

And  lots  of  potatoes, 
More  sorts,  in  soo.h,  than  I  could  tell ; 
Turnips,  that  always  turned  up  well: 
Celery,  all  that  he  could  sell ; 
Grapes  bv  the  bushel,  sour  and  sweet; 
Beets,  that  certainly  could  n't  be  beat; 
Cabbage  —  like  some  sartorial  mound  ; 
Vines,    that     fairly    cu  cumbered     the 

ground ; 
Some  pumpkins  —  more  than  he  could 

house,  and 
Ten    thousand   pears;    (that's    twenty 

thousand !) 

Fruit  of  all  kinds  and  propagations, 
Baldwins,  Pippins,  and  Carnations. 
And  apples  of  other  appellations. 
To  sum  it  all  up  in  the  briefest  space, 
As  you  may  suppose,  Brown  nourished 
apace, 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


58 


Just  because  he  proceeded,  I  venture  to 
say, 

In  the  nulla-retrorsum  vestigi-ous  way; 

That   is  —  if   you  're    not   University- 
bred— 

He  took  Crocket's  advice  about  going 
ahead. 

At  all  the  State  Fairs  he  held  a  fair  sta- 
tion, 

Raised   horses  and  cows  and  his  own 
reputation ; 

Made  butter  and  money ;  took  a  Jus- 
tice's niche ; 

Grew  wheat,  wool,  and  hemp ;  corn,  cat- 
tle, and  —  rich ! 

But  who  would  be  always  a  country- 
clown  1 

And  .so  Tom  Brown 
Sat  himself  down 

And,  knitting  his   brow  in  a  studious 

frown, 

He  said,  says  he :  — 
It 's  plain  to  see, 

And  I  think  Mrs.   B.  will  be  apt  to 
agree 

(If  she  don't,  it  's  much  the  same  to 

me), 

That  I,  TOM  BROWN, 
Should  go  to  town  ! 

But  then,  says  he,  what  town  shall  it 
be? 

Boston-town  is  consid'rably  nearer, 

And  York   is  farther,  and  so  will  be 
dearer, 

But  then,  of  course,  the  sights  will  be 
queerer  ; 

Besides,  I  'm  told,  you  're  surely  a  lost 
'un, 

If  you  once  get  astray  in  the  streets  of 

Boston. 

York  is  rijrht-angled ; 
And  Boston,  right-tangled; 

And  both,  I  've  no  doubt,  are  uncommon 
new-fangled. 

Ah  !  —  the  "  SMITHS,"  I  remember,  be- 
long to  York 

('T  was  ten  years  ago  I  sold  them  my 
pork;, 

Good,  honest  traders  —  I  'd  like  to  know 
them  — 

And    so  —  't  is    settled  —  I  '11    go    to 
Gotham ! 

And  so  Tom  Brown 

Sat  himself  down, 

With  many  a  smile  and  never  a  frown, 
And    rode,    by   rail,    to    that    notable 
town 


Which  I  really  think  well  worthy  of 
mention 

As  being  America's  greatest  invention ! 

Indeed,  I  '11  be  bound  that  if  Nature  and 
Art 

(Though  the  former,  being  older,  has 
gotten  the  start), 

In  some  new  Crystal  Palace  of  suitable 
size 

Should  show  their  chefs-d'oeuvre,  and  con- 
tend for  the  prize 

The  latter  would  prove,  when  it  came 
to  the  scratch, 

Whate'er  you  may  think,  no  contempti- 
ble match ; 

For  should  old  Mrs.  Nature  endeavor  to 
stagger  her 

By  presenting,  at  last,  her  majestic  Ni- 
agara, 

Miss  Art  would  produce  an  equivalent 
work 

In  her  great,  overwhelming,  unfinished 
NEW  YORK ! 

And  now  Mr.  Brown 
Was  fairly  in  town, 

In  that  part  of  the  city  they  used  to  caD 
"  down," 

Not  far  from  the  spot  of  ancient  renown 
As  being  the  scene 
Of  the  Bowling  Green, 

A  fountain  that  looked  like  a  huge 
tureen 

Piled  up  with  rocks,  and  a  squirt  be- 
tween ; 

But  the  "  Bowling  "  now  has  gone  where 
they  tally 

"  The  Fall  of  the  Ten,"  in  a  neighbor- 
ing alley ; 

And  as  to  the  "Green"  — why,  that 
you  will  find 

Whenever  yon  see  the  "  invisible " 
kind!  — 

And  he  stopped  at  an  Inn  that's  known 
very  well, 

"  Delmonico's  "  once  —  now  "  Steven's 
Hotel " ; 

(And,  to  venture  a  pun  which  I  think  ' 
rather  witty, 

There  's  no  better  Inn  in  this  Inn-famous 
city!) 

And  Mr.  Brown 

Strolled  up  town, 

And  I  'm   going   to   writ 

down  ; 

But  if  you  suppose  Tom  Brown  will  dis- 
close 


rrite   his  travels 


54 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


The  usual  sins  and  follies  of  those 
Who  leave  rural  regions   to  see  city- 
shows,  — 

You  could  n't  well  make 
A  greater  mistake ; 
For  Brown  was  a    man  of  excellent 

sense ; 
Could  see  very  well  through  a  hole  in  a 

fence, 
And  was  honest  and  plain,  without  sham 

or  pretence ; 
Of  sharp  city-learning  he  could  n't  have 

boasted, 
But  he  was  n't  the  chap  to  be  easily 

roasted. 

And  h  re  let  me  say, 
In  a  very  dogmatic,  oracular  way 
(And  I  '11  prove  it,  before  1  have  done 

with  my  lay), 

Not  only  that  honesty  's  likely  to  "  pay," 
But  that  one  must  be,  us  a  general  rule, 
At  least  half  a  knave  to  be  wholly  a 

fool! 

Of  pocketbook-dropping  Tom  never  had 

heard 
(Or  at  least  if  he  had,  he  M  forgotten 

the  word), 
And  now  when,  at  length,  the  occasion 

occurred, 
For  that  sort  of  chaff  he   was  n't  the 

bird 
The  gentleman  argued  with  eloquent 

force, 
And  begged  him  to  pocket  the  money, 

of  course ; 
But  Brown,  without  thinking  at  all  what 

he  said, 
Popped  out  the  first  thing  that  entered 

his  head 
(Which  chanced  to  be  wondrously  fitting 

and  true), 
"No,  no,  my  dear  Sir,  I  '11  be  burnt  if  I 

do!" 
Two  lively  young  fellows,  of  elegant 

mien, 

Amused  him  awhile  with  a  pretty  ma- 
chine, — 

An  ivory  ball,  which  he  never  had  seen. 
But  though  the  unsuspecting  stranger 
In  the  "patent  safe''   saw  no  patent 

danger, 

He  easily  dodged  the  nefarious  net, 
Because    "  he  was  n't    accustomed   to 

bet" 

Ah !  here,  I  wot, 
la  exactly  the  spot 


To    make  a  small  fortune  as   easy  ai 
not! 

That  man  with  the  watch  — what  lungs 
he  has  got ! 

It 's  "  Going  —  the  best  of  that  elegant 
lot  — 

To  close  a  concern,  at  a  desperate  rate, 

The  jeweler  ruined  as  certain  as  fate  ! 

A  capital  watch  !  —  you  may  see  by  the 
weight  — 

Worth  one  hundred  dollars  as  easv  as 
ei-ht  — 

Or  half  of  that  sum  to  melt  down  into 
plate  — 

(Brown   doesn't   know  "Peter"  from 

Peter  the  Great) 
But  then  I  can't  dwell, 
I  'm  ordered  to  sell, 

And  mus  'n't  stand  weeping  — just  look 
at  the  shell  — 

I  warrant  the  ticker  to  operate  well  — 

Nine  dollars!  —  it's  hard  to  be  selling 
it  under 

A  couple  of  fifties  —  it 's  cruel,  by  Thun- 
der ! 

Ten  dollars !  —  I  'm  offered  —  the  man 
who  secures 

This    splendid—  ten    dollars!—  say 
twelve,  and  it 's  yours  !  " 

"Don't  want  it"  quoth  Brown — "I 
don't  wish  to  buy ; 

Fifty  dollars,  I'm  sure,   one   couldn't 
call  high  — 

But  to  see  the  man  ruined!  —  Dear  Sir, 
I  declare  — 

Between  two  or  three  bidders,  it  does  n't 
seem  fair ; 

To  knock  it  off  now  were  surely  a  sin  ; 

Just  wnit,  my  dear  Sir,  till  the  people 
come  in  ! 

Allow  me  to  say,  yon  disgrace  your  po- 
sition 

As  Sheriff —  consid'ring   the   debtor's 
condition  — 

To  sell  such  a  watch  without  more  com- 
petition !  " 

And  here  Mr.  Brown 
Gave  a  very  black  frown, 

Stepped  leisurely  out,  and  walked  far- 
ther up  town. 

To  see  him  stray  along  Broadway 

In  the  afternoon  of  a  summer's  day, 

And  note  what  he  chanced  to  see  and 

say; 

And  what  people  he  meets 
In  the  narrower  streets, 

Were  a  pregnant  theme  for  a  longer 
lay. 


YE  TAILYOR-MAN. 


55 


How  he  marveled  at  those  geological 
chaps 

Who  go  poking  about  in  crannies  and 
gaps, 

Those  curious  people  in  tattered  breeches 

The  rag-wearing,  rag-pickiug  tons  of- — 
ditches, 

Who  find  in  the  very  nastiest  niches 

A  "  decent  living,"  and  sometimes 
riches ; 

How  he  thought  city  prices  exceedingly 
queer, 

The  'busses  too  cheap,  and  the  hacks 
too  dear ; 

How  he  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  got  lost 
in  the  question  — 

A  problem  too  hard  for  his  mental  di- 
gestion — 

Why —  in  cleaning  the  city,  the  city 
employs 

Such  a  very  small  corps  of  such  very 
small  boys ; 

How  he  judges'by  dress,  and  according- 
ly makes, 

By  mixmg  up  classes,  the  drollest  mis- 
takes. 

How — as  if  simple  vanity  ever  were 
vicious, 

Or  women  of  merit  could  be  meretri- 
cious, — 

He  imagines  the  dashing  Fifth-Avenue 
dames 

The  same  as  the  girls  with  unspeakable 
names  ! 

An  exceedingly  natural  blunder  in 
sooth, 

But,  I  'm  happy  to  say,  very  far  from 
the  truth ; 

For  e'en  at  the  worst,  whate'er  you  sup- 
pose, 

The  one  sort  of  ladies  can  choose  their 
beaux, 

While,  as  to  the  other —  but  every  one 
knows 

What  —  if  't  were  a  secret  —  I  would  n't 
disclose. 

And  Mr.  Brown 
Returned  from  town, 
With  a   bran  new   hat,   and   a  muslin 

gown, 
And  he  told  the  tale,  when  the  sun  was 

down, 
How  he  spent  his  eagles,  and  saved  his 

crown ; 
How  he  showed  his  pluck  by  resisting 

the  claim 


Of  an  impudent  fellow  who  asked  his 

name  ; 
But  paid  —  as  a  gentleman  ever  is  will- 


At  the  old  Park-Gate,  the  regular  shil- 
ling! 

YE  TAILYOR-MAN. 

A   CONTEMPLATIVE    BALLAD. 

RIGHT  jollie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

As  anuie  man  may  be  ; 
And  all  ye  daye  upon  ye  benche 

He  worketh  merrilie. 

And  oft  ye  while  in  pleasante  wise 

He  coileth  up  his  lymbes, 
He  singetli  songs  ye  like  whereof 

Are  not  in  Watts  his  hymns. 

And  yet  he  toileth  all  ye  while 

His  merrie  catches  rolle ; 
As  true  unto  ye  needle  as 

Ye  needle  to  ye  pole. 

What  cares  ye  valiant  tailyor-man 

For  all  ye  cowarde  feares  ? 
Ag-iiust  ye  scissors  of  ye  Fates 

He  pointes  his  mightie  shears. 

He  heedeth  not  ye  anciente  jests 

That  witlesse  sinners  use; 
What  feareth  ye  bolde  tailyor-man 

Ye  hissinge  of  a  goose  f 

He  pulleth  at  ye  busie  threade, 

To  feede  his  lovinge  wife 
And  eke  his  childe ;  for  unto  them 

It  is  ye  threade  of  life. 

He  cutteth  well  ye  riche  man's  coate, 

And  with  un  seem  lie  pride 
He  sees  ye  li  ttle  waiscoate  in 

Ye  cabbage  bye  his  side. 

Meanwhile  ye  tailyor-man  his  wife, 

To  labor  nothinge  loth, 
Sits  bye  with  readie  hande  to  baste 

Ye  urchin  and  ye  cloth. 

Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

Yet  is  he  often  tried, 
Lest  he,  from  fullnesse  of  ye  dimes, 

Wax  wanton  in  his  pride. 


56 


THE  DEVIL   OF  NAMES. 


Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

And  yet  he  hath  a  foe, 
A  cuiuiinge  enemie  that  none 

So  well  as  tailyors  knowe. 

It  is  ye  slipperie  customer 
Who  goes  his  wicked  waves, 

And  \\eares  ye  tailyor-man  his  coate 
But  iiever,  never  paves ! 


THE  DEVIL  OF  NAMES. 

A    LEGEND. 

AT  an  old-fashioned  inn,  with  a  pen- 
dulous sign, 

Once  graced  with  the  head  of  the  king 
of  the  kine, 

But  inuocent  now  of  the  slightest  "de- 
sign," 

Save  calling    low  people    to    spurious 
wine,  — 

While  the  villagers,  drinking,  and  play- 
ing "  all  fours," 

And  cracking  small  jokes,  with  vocifer- 
ous roars, 

Were  talking  of  horses,  and  hunting, 
and  —  scores 

Of  similar  topics  a  bar  room  adores, 

But   which  rigid    morality  greatly  de- 
plores, 

Till  as  they  grew  high  in  their  hacchanal 
revels, 

They  fell  to  discoursing  of  witches  and 

deviN,  — 
A  neat  single  rap, 
Just  the  ghost  of  a  tap, 

That  would  scarcely    have  wakened  a 
flea  from  his  nap, 

Not  at  all  in  its  sound  like  your  "  Roch- 
ester Knocking  " 

(Where  asses   in    herds  are   diurnally 
flocking), 

But  twice    as    mysterious,  and   vastly 
more  shocking. 

Was  heard  at  the  door  by  the  people 
within. 

Who  stopped  in  a  moment  their  clam- 
orous tlin. 

Aid  ceased  in  a  trice  from  their  jokes 

and  their  gin : 
When  who  -honld  appear 

Bnt  an  odd-looking  stranger  somewhat 
"  in  the  sere  " 

IHe  seemed  at  the  least  in  his  sixtieth 
year), 


And  he  limped  in  a  manner  exceedingly 
queer, 

Wore  breeches  uncommonly  wide  in  the 
rear, 

And   his  nose    was   turned  up   with  a 
comical  sneer, 

And  he  had  in  his  eye  a  most  villainous 
leer, 

Quite  enough  to  make  anv  one  tremble 

with  fear ! 
Whence  he  came, 
And  what  was  his  name, 

And  what  his  purpo.«e  in  venturing  out, 

And  whether  his  lameness  was  "  gam- 
mon "  or  gout, 

Or  merely  fatigue  from  strolling  about, 

Were  questions  involved  in  a  great  deal 

of  doubt,  — 
When,  taking  a  chair, 
With  a  sociable  air, 

Like  that  which  your  "  Uncle  "  'a  ac- 
customed to  wear, 

Or  a  broker  determined  to  sell  you  a 
share 

In  his  splendid   "  New  England  Gold- 
mining  "  affair, 

He  opened  his  mouth  and  went  on  to 
declare 

That  he  was  a  devil!  —  "The  devil  vou 
are !  " 

Cried    one   of    the    guests    assembled 
there, 

With  a  sudden  start,  and  a  frightened 
stare ! 

"  Nay,  don't  be  alarmed,"  the  stranger 
exclaims, 

"At  the  name  of  the  devii,  —  I'm  the 

De.nl  of  Nam<s! 
You  '11  wonder  why 
Such  a  devil  as  I, 

Who  ought,  you  would  say,  to  be  devil- 
ish shy, 

Should  venture  in  here  with  never  a 
doubt. 

And  let  the  best  of  his  secrets  out; 
But  mind  you,  mv  boys, 
It 's  one  of  the  joys 

Of  the  cunningest  woman  and  craftiest 
man, 

To  run  as  quickly  as  ever  they  can, 

And  put  a  confidante  under  ban 

Not  to  publish  their  favorite  plan  1 
And  even  the  de'il 
Will  sometimes  feel 

A  little  of  that  remarkable,  zeal, 

And  (when  it 's  safe)  delights  to  tell 

The  very  deepest  arcana  of  —  well ;  — 

Be»ide;s,"my  favor  this  company  wins, 


THE  DEVIL   OF  NAMES. 


57 


For  I  value  next  to  capital  sins 

Those    out-and-outers     who    revel     in 

inns  ! 

So,  not  to  delay, 
I  'in  going  to  say, 

In  the  very  fullest  and  frankest  way, 
All  about  my  honors  and  claims, 
Projects    and    plans,   and   objects  and 

aims, 
And    why    I  'm    called  '  The  Devil  of 

Names ! ' 

I  cheat  by  false  graces, 
Anil  duplicate  faces, 
And  treacherous  praises, 
And  by  hiding  bad  things  under  plausi- 
ble phrases! 
I  '11  give  you  a  sample, 
By  way  of  example  : 
Here  's  a  bottle  before  me,  will  suit  to 

aT 
For    a    nice    illustration :    this  liquor, 

d'ye  see, 
Is  the   water  of  death,  though  topers 

agree 
To  think  it,  and  drink  it,  as  pure  '  eau 

de  vie ; ' 
I  know  what  it  is,  —  that 's  sufficient  for 

me ! 
For  the  blackest  of  sins,  and  crimes,  and 

shames, 

I  find  soft  words  and  innocent  names. 
The  Hells  devoted  to  Satan's  games 
I  christen  '  Saloons '   and  '  Halls,'  and 

then, 

By  another  contrivance  of  mine  again, 
They  're   only    haunted    by   '  sporting 

men,'  — 
A    phrase    which    many    a   gamester 

begs, 

In  spite  of  the  saw  that '  eggs  is  eggs,' 
To  whiten  his  nigritudinous  legs ! 

"  To  debauchees  I  graciously  grant 
The  favor  to  be  '  a  little  gallant,' 
And  soften  vicious  vagrancy  down, 
By   civilly    speaking    of    '  men    about 

town ; ' 

There  's  cheating  and  lying 
In  selling  and  buying, 
And  all  sorts  of  frauds  and  dishonest 

exactions 
I  've  brought  to  the  smallest  of  moral 

infractions, 
Merely     by     naming    them    '  business 

"transactions' ! 

There  's  swindling,  now,  is  vastly  more 
fine 


As  'Banking,'  —  a  lucky  invention  of 

mine, 
Worth  ten  in  the  old  diabolical  line  ! 

"  In  lesser  matters  it 's  all  the  same, 
I  gain  the  thing  by  yielding  the  name ; 
It 's  really  quite  the  broadest  of  jokes, 
But,  on  my  honor,  there  's  plenty  of 

folks 

So  uncommonly  fond  of  verbal  cloaks, 
They    can't    enjoy    the    dinners     they 

eat, 
Court   the    '  muse    of     the   twinkling 

feet,' 

Laugh  or  sing,  or  do  anything  meet 
For  Christian  people,  without  a  cheat 
To  make    their  happiness  quite  com- 
plete ! 

The  Boston  saints 
Are  fond  of  these  feints ; 
A  theatre  rouses  the  loudest  complaints, 
Till  it 's  thoroughly  purged  from  pesti- 
lent taints, 
By  the  charm  of  a  name  and  a  pious  T« 

Deum,  — 

Yet  they  patronize   actors,  and   hand- 
somely fee  'em ! 
Keep  (shade  of  'the  Howards!')  a  gay 

'  Athenaeum,' 

And  have,  above  all,  a  harmless  '  Mu- 
seum,' 

Where  folks  who  love  plays  may  relig- 
iously see  'em ! 

"But  leaving  a  trifle  which  cost  me 

more  trouble 
By  far  than   the  worth  of  so  flimsy  a 

'  bubble, 

I  come  to  a  matter  which  really  claims 
The  studious  care  of  the  Devil  of  Names- 
There  's  '  Charity  '  now  ' ' — 

But  the  lecture  was  done, 
Like  old  Goody  Morey's  when  scarcely 

begun ; 
The    devil's    discourse    by  its    serious 

teaching 
Had    set   ?em    a-snoring,   like    regular 

preaching ! 
One  look  of  disdain  on  the  sleepers  he 

threw, 
As  in  bitter  contempt  of  the  slumbering 

crew, 
And   the  devil    had  vanished  without 

more  ado,  — 
A  trick,  I  suspect,  that  he  seldom  play« 


68 


THE  STAMMERING  WIFE. 


YE  PEDAGOGUE 

A   BALLAD. 


RIOHTE  learned  is  ye  Pedagogue, 
Fulle  npt  to  reade  and  spelle, 

And  eke  to  teache  ye  parts  of  speeche, 
And  strap  ye  urchins  welle. 


For  as'^is  meete  to  soake  ye  feete, 
Ye  ailinge  heade  to  meude, 

Ye  younkei-'s"pate-  to  stimulate, 
lie  bears  ye  other  ende  ! 


Righte  lordlie  is  ye  Pedagogue 

As  any  turbaned  Turke ; 
For  welle  to  rule  ye  District  Schoole, 

It  is  no  idle  worke. 


For  oft  Rebellion  lurketh  there 
In  breastc  of  secrete  foes, 

Of  malice  fulle,  in  waite  to  pulle 
Ye  1'edagogue  his  nose  ! 


Sometimes  he   hearcs,  with  trembling 
feares, 

Of  ye  ungodlie  rogue 
On  inischu-ffe  bent,  with  felle  intent 

To  licke  ye  Pedagogue  ! 


And  if  ye  Pedagogue  be  smalle, 

When  to  ye  battell  led, 
In    such    a"  plighte,    God    sende    him 
miirhte 

To  bre.ike  ye  rogue  his  heade  ! 


•Pave  after  daye,  for  little  paye, 

He  teachetli  what  he  can, 
Ami  bears  ye  yoke,  to  please  ye  folke, 

An  1  ye  Committee  man. 

VIII. 

Ah  !  many  crosses  hath  he  borne, 

Ami  many  trials  founde, 
Ye  while  lit;  trudged  ye  district  through, 

And  boarded  rounde  and  rounde  ! 


Ah  !  many  a  steake  hath  he  devoured, 
That,  by  ye  .taste  and  sighte, 


Was  in  disdaine,  't  was  very  plaine, 
Of  Daye  his  patent  righte ! 


Fulle  solemn  is  ye  Pedatrogue, 

Amonge  ye  noisy  churls, 
Yet  other  while  he  hath  a  smile 

To  give  ye  handsome  girls  ; 

XI. 

And    one,  —  ye    fayrest    mayde    of 

all, — 

To  cheere  his  wayninge  life, 
Shall  bo,  when  Springe  ye  flowers  shall 

bringe, 
Ye  Pedagogue  his  wife  I 


THE   STAMMERING  WIFE. 


WHEN,  deeply  in  love  witli  Miss  Emily 

Cline, 
I  vowed,  if  the  maiden  would  only  be 

mine, 
I  would   always   endeavor  to  please 

her. 
She   blushed   her  consent,  though  the 

stuttering  lass 
Said  never  a  word,  except  "  You  're  an 

ass  — 
An  ass  — an  ass-iduous  teaser  !" 


But  when  we  were  married  I  found  to 

my  ruth 
The  stammering  lady  had   spoken  the 

truth, 

For  often,  in  obvious  dudgeon, 
She'd  say,  —  if  I  ventured  to  give  her 

a  J°J> 
In  the  way  of  reproof,  —  "  You  're  a  dog 

—  you  're  a  dog  — 
A  dog  —  a  dog-matic  curmudgeon  ! " 


And  once  when  I  said,  "  We  can  hardly 
afford 

This  extravagant  style,  with  our  mod- 
erate hoard," 
And  hinted  we  ought  to  be  wiser, 

She  looked,  I  assure  you,  exceedingly 
blue, 

And   fretfully  cried,  "  You  're  a  ju  — 

you  're  a  ju  — 
A  very  ju-dicious  adviser  1 " 


;  Daye  after  daye,  for  little  paye, 

He  teacheth  what  he  can."     Page  58. 


A  RHYMED  EPISTLE. 


59 


Again,  when  it  happened  that,  wishing 
to  shirk 

Some   rather  unpleasant   and  arduous 

work, 
I  begged  her  to  go  to  a  neighbor  ; 

She  wanted  to  know  why  I  made  such  a 
fuss, 

And  saucily  said,  "You  're  a  ens  —  cus 

—  rus  — 

You  were  always  ac-cus-tomed  to  la- 
bor ! " 


Out  of  temper  at  last  with  the  insolent 

dame, 
And  feeling  that  Madam  was  greatly  to 

blame 

To  scold  me  instead  of  caressing, 
I  mimicked  her  speech  — like  a  churl  as 

I  am  — 
And   angrily  said,  "  You  're   a  dam  — 

dam  —  dam  — 
A  dam-age  instead  of  a  blessing ! " 


A  RHYMED   EPISTLE. 

TO     THE     EDITOR    OF     THE     KNICKER- 
BOCKER    MAGAZINE. 

DEAR  KNICK:   While  myself  and  my 

spouse 

Sat   tea  ing  last  eveniug,  and   chat- 
ting, 
And.  mindful  of  conjugal  vows, 

Were  nicely  agreed  in  combating, 
It  chanced  that  myself  and  my  wife, 
('T  was  Madam  occasioned"  the  poth- 
er!) 
Falling  suddenly  into  a  strife, 

Came  near  falling  out  with  each  other ! 

In  a  brisk,  miscellaneous  chat, 

Quite  in  tune  with  the  chime  of  the 

tea-things, 
We  were  talking  of  this  and  of  that, 

Just  as  each  of  us  happened  to  see 

things, 
When  somehow  or  other  it  chanced 

(I  don't  quite  remember  the  cue), 
That  as  talking  and  tea-ing  advanced, 

We  found  we  were  talking  of  you  5 

I  think  —  but  perhaps  I  am  wrong, 
Such  a  subtle  old  chap  is  Suggestion, 


As  he  forces  each  topic  along 

By  the  trick  of  the  "  previous  ques- 
tion "  — 
Some  remarks  on  a  bacchanal  revel 

Suggested  that  horrible  elf 
With  the  hoof  and  the  horns,  —  and  the 

Devil, 
Excuse  me,  suggested  yourself! 

"  Ah !  Knick,  to  be  sure  ;  by  the  way," 

Quoth  Madam,  "  what  sort  of  a  man 
Do  you  take  him  to  be !  —  nay,  but  stay, 

A'nd  let  me  guess  him  out  if  I  can. 
He's  young,   and  quite  handsome,  no 
doubt ; 

Rather  slender,  and  not  over-tall ; 
And  he  loves  a  snug  little  turn  out, 

And  turns  out  '  quite  a  love '  at  a 
ball ! " 

And  then  she  went  on  to  portray 

Such  a  very  delightful  ideal, 
That  a  sensible  stranger  would  say 

It  really  could  n't  be  real. 
"  And  his  wife,  what  a  lady  must  she  be  ? 

(KNICK  's  married,  that  /  kuow,  and 

you  know  : ) 
You  '11  find  her  a  delicate  Hebe, 

And  not  your  magnificent  Juno!" 

Now  I  am  a  man,  you  must  learn, 

Less  famous  for  beauty  than  strength, 
And,  for  aught  I  could  ever  discern, 

Of  rather  superfluous  length. 
In  truth  't  is  but  seldom  one  meets 

Such  a  Titan  in  human  abodes, 
And  when  I  stalk  over  the  streets, 

I  'm  a  perfect  Colossus  of  roads ! 

So  I  frowned  like  a  tragedy  Roman, 

For  in  painting  the  beautiful  el£ 
As  the  form  of  your  lady,  the  woman 

Took  care  to  "be  drawing  herself; 
While,  mark  you,  the  picture  she  drew 

So  deuced  con  arnore  and  free, 
That  fanciful  likeness  of  you, 

Was  by  no  means  a  portrait  of  me  ! 

"  How  lucky  for  ladies."  I  hinted, 

"  That  in  our  republican  land 
They     may     prattle,     without     being 
stinted, 

Of  matters  they  don't  understand ; 
I'll     show     you,    dear    Madam,    that 
'  KNICK  ' 

Is  n't  dapper  nor  daintily  slim, 
But  a  gentleman  decently  thick, 

With  a  manly  extension  of  limb. 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY. 


"And  as  to  his  youth,  — talk  of  flow- 
ers 

Blooming  gayly  in  frosty  December ! 
I  'll  warrant  his  juvenile  hours 

Are  things  he  can  scarcely  remem- 
ber! 

Here,  Madam,  quite  plain  to  be  seen, 
Js  the  chap  you  would  choose  for  a 

lover !  ' 

And,  producing  your  own  Magazine, 
I  pointed  elate  to  the  cover ! 

"  Yon  see,  ma'am,  'tis  just  as  I  said, 

His  locks  are  as  gray  as  a  rat ; 
Here,  look  at  the  crown  of  his  head, 

"f  is  bald  as  the  crown  of  my  hat ! " 
"Nay,  my  dear,''  interrupted  my  wife, 

Who  began  to  be  casting  about 
To  get  the  last  word  in  the  strife, 

"Tis  his  grandfather's   picture,  no 
doubt!" 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY. 

AN    ECLOGUE. 
CLOVEKTOP. 

I  'VE  thought,  my  Cousin,  it 's  extremely 
queer 

That  you,  who  love  to  spend  your  Au- 
gust here, 

Don't  bring,  at  once,  your  wife  and  chil- 
dren down, 

And  quit,  for  good,  the  noisy,  dusty 
town. 

8HILLINGSIDK. 

Ah  !  simple  swain,  this  sort  of  life  may 

do 

For  such  a  verdnnt  Clovertop  as  you, 
Content  to  vegetate  in  summer  air, 
And  hibernate  in  winter  —  like  a  bear  ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here   we    have   butter   pure  as  virgin 

gold, 
And  milk  from  cows  that  can  a  tail  un 

fold 
With  bovine  pride ;  and  new-laid  eggs, 

whose  praise 
Js  sung  by  pullets  with  their  morning 

lays; 
Trout  from  th^  brook  ;  good  water  from 

the  well ; 
And    other  blessings  more  than  I  can 

tell! 


8HILLINGSIDE. 

There,  simple  rustic,  we  have  nightly 
plays, 

And  operatic  music,  —  charming  ways 

Of  spending  time  and  monev,  —  lots  of 
fun; 

The  Central  Park  —  whene'er  they  get 
it  done; 

Barnum's  Museum,  full  of  things  er- 
ratic, 

Terrene,  amphibious,  airy,  and  aquatic ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here,  we   have  rosy,  radiant,  romping 

girls, 
With  lips  of  rubies,  and  with  teeth  of 

pearls ; 
I  dare  not  mention  half  their  witching 

charms ; 
But,  ah !  the  roundness  of  their  milky 

arms, 
And,  oh !  what  polished  shoulders  they 

display, 
Bending  o'er  tubs  upon  a  washing  day ! 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There  we  have  ladies  most  superbly 
made 

(By  fine  artistes,  who  understand  their 
trade), 

WTho  dance  the  German,  flirt  a  graceful 
fun, 

And  speak  such  French  as  no  Parisian 
can  ; 

Who  sing  much  louder  than  your  coun- 
try thrushes, 

And  wear  (thank  Phalon !)  far  more 
brilliant  blushes ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here,  boastful  Shilling,  we  have  flowery 
walks, 

Where  you  may  stroll,  and  hold  delight- 
ful talks, 

(No  saucy  placard  frowning  as  you  pnss, 

"  Ten  dollars'  fine  for  walking  on  the 
grass  ! ") 

Dim  lighted  groves,  where  love's  deli- 
cious words 

Are  breathed  to  music  of  melodious 
birds. 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

There,  silly  Clover,  dashing  belles  we 

meet, 
Sweeping  with  silken   robes  the  dustj 

street ; 


THE  FAMILY  MAN. 


61 


Mav  gaze  into  tlieir  faces  as  they  pass, 
Beneath  the  rays  of  dimly  burning  gas, 
Or,  staudinir  at  a  cro>siug  when  it  ruins, 
May   see   some    pretty   ankles  for  our 
pains. 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  you  may  angle  for  the   speckled 

trout, 
Play  him  awhile,  with  gentle  hand, 

about, 
Then,  like  a  sportsman,  pull  the  fellow 

out ! 

8HILLINGSIDE. 

There,  too,  is  fishing  quite  as  good,  I 

ween, 
Where  careless,  gaping  gudgeons  oft  are 

seen, 
Rich  as  yon  pasture,  and  almost  as 

green  ! 

CLOVE  RTOP. 

Here  you  may  see  the  meadow's  grassy 

pliiin, 
Ripe,  luscious  fruits,  and  shocks  of 

golden  grain  ; 

And  view,  luxuriant  in  a  hundred  fields, 
The  gorgeous   wealth   that   bounteous 

Nature  yields ! 

8H1LLINGSIDE. 

There  you  may  see  Trade's  wondrous 

strength  and  pride, 
Where  merchant-navies  throng  on  every 

side, 

And  view,  collected  in  Columbia's  mart, 
Alike  the  wealth  of  Nature  and  of  Art! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Cease,  cl  imorous  cit !    I  love  these  quiet 

nouks, 
Where  one  may  sleep,  or  dawdle  over 

books, 

Or,  if  he  wish  of  gentle  love  to  dream, 
May  sit  nud  muse  by  yonder  babbling 

stream  — 

SHILLINGSIDE. 

Dry  up  your  babbling  stream  !  my  Clo- 
vertop  — 

You  're  getting  garrulous  ;  it 's  time  to 
stop. 

I  love  the  city,  and  the  city's  smoke  ; 

The  smell  of  gas  ;  the  dust  of  coal  and 
coke ; 

The  sound  of  bells ;  the  tramp  of  hur- 
rying feet ; 


The  sight  of  pigs  and  Paphiaus  in  the 

street ; 
The  jostling  crowd  ;   the  never-ceasing 

noise 

Of  rattling  coaches,  and  vociferous  boys ; 
The  cry  of   "Fire!"  and  the  exciting 

scene 
Of  heroes  running  with  their  mad  "  mer- 

sheen  ;  " 
Nav,   now  I   think  that  I  could  even 

stand 
The  direful  din   of   Barnum's  brazen 

band, 

So  much  I  long  to  see  the  town  again  ! 
Good-by !     1  'in  going  by  the  evening 

train  ! 
Don't  fail  to  call  whene'er  you  come  to 

town, 

We  '11  do  the  city,  boy,  and  do  it  brown  ; 
I  've  really  had  a  pleasant  visit  here, 
And  mean  to  come  agaiu  another  year. 


THE   FAMILY  MAN. 

I  ONCE  was  a  jolly  young  beau, 
And  knew  how  to  pick  up  a  fan, 

But  I  've  done  with  all  that,  you  must 

know. 
For  now  I  'm  a  family  man  ! 

When  a  partner  I  ventured  to  take, 
The  ladies  all  favored  the  plan  ; 

They  vowed  I  was  certain  to  make 
"  Such  an  excellent  family  man  ! " 

If  I  travel  by  land  or  by  water, 

I  have  charge  of  some  Susan  or  Ann ; 

Mrs.  Brown  is  so  sure  that  her  daughter 
Is  safe  with  a  family  man  ! 

The  trunks  and  the  bandboxes   round 

'em 

With  something  like  horror  I  scan, 
But  though  I  may  mutter,  "  Confound 

'em  !  " 
I  smile  —  like  a  family  man  ! 

I  once  was  as  gay  as  a  templar, 
But  levity  's  now  under  ban  ; 

Young  people  must  have  an  exemplar 
And  1  am  a  family  man  ! 

The  club-men  I  meet  in  the  city 
All  treat  me  as  well  as  they  can  ; 

And  only  exclaim,  "  What  a  pity 
Poor  Tom  is  a  family  man  !  " 


62 


NE  CREDE  COLORI. 


I  own  I  nra  gettin?  quite  pensive  ; 

Ten  children,  from  David  to  D;ii 
Is  a  family  rather  extensive ; 

But  then  —  I  'm  a  family  man ! 


THE  SNAKE  IN  THE  GLASS. 

A   HOMILT. 

COME  listen  awhile  to  me,  my  lad ; 
Come  listen  to  me  for  a  spell; 

Let  that  terrible  dram 

For  a  moment  be  dumb, 
For  your  uncle  is  going  to  tell 

What  befell 
A  youth  who  loved  liquor  too  well. 

A  clever  young  man  was  he,  my  lad; 
And  with  beauty  uncommonly  blest, 

Ere,  with  brandy  and  wine, 

He  began  to  decline, 
And  behaved  like  a  person  possessed  ; 

I  protest 
The  temperance  plan  is  the  best. 

One  evening  he  went  to  a  tavern,  my  lad  ; 
He  went  to  a  tavern  one  night, 

And  drinking  too  much 

Rum,  brandy,  and  such. 
The  chap  got  exceedingly  "  tight ; " 

And  was  quite 
What  your  anut  would  entitle  a  fright. 

The  fellow  fell  into  a  snooze,  my  lad ; 
'T  is  a  honililc  slumber  he  takes; 

He  trem  bles  with  fear, 

And  acts  very  queer; 
My  eyes !  how  he  shivers  and  shakes 

When  he  wakes, 
And  raves  about  horrid  great  snakes ! 

T  is  a  warning  to  you  and  to  me,  my  lad  ; 
A  particular  caution  to  all, — 

Though  no  one  can  see 

The  vipers  but  he,  — 
To  hear  the  poor  lunatic  bawl :  — 

"  How  they  crawl !  — 
All  over  the  floor  and  the  wall ! " 

Next  morning  he  took  to  his  bed,  my  lad ; 
Next  morning  he  took  u>  his  bed ; 

And  he  never  got  up 

To  dine  or  to  sup, 
Though  properly  physicked  and  bled; 

And  I  read, 
Next  day,  the  poor  fellow  was  dead  ! 


You  've  heard  of  the  snake  in  the  grassy 

my  lad ; 

Of  the  viper  concealed  in  the  grass; 
But  now,  you  must  know, 
Man's  deadliest  foe 
Is  a  snake  of  a  different  class; 

Alas!  - 
'T  is  the  viper  that  lurks  in  the  glass ! 

A  warning  to  you  and  to  me,  my  lad ; 
A  very  imperative  call : 

Of  liquor  keep  clear; 

Don't  drink  even  beer, 
If  you  'd  shun  all  occasion  to  fall ; 

If  at  all, 
Pray  take  it  uncommonly  small. 

And  if  you  are  partial  to  snakes,  my  lad 
(A  passion  I  think  rather  low), 

Don't  enter,  to  see  'em, 

The  Devil's  Museum  !  — 
Tis  very  much  better  to  go 

(That's  so!) 
And  visit  a  regular  show  ! 


NE  CREDE  COLORI: 

OR,   TRUST   NOT   TO   APPEARANCES. 

THE  mnsty  old  maxim  is  wise, 
Althoug'h  with  antiquity  hoary; 

What  an  excellent  homily  lies 
In  the  motto,  Ne  crede  colori! 

A  blustering  minion  of  Mars 
Is  vaunting  his  battles  so  gory; 

You  see  some  eciuivocal  scars, 
And  mutter,  Ne  crede  colori! 

A  fellow  solicits  your  tin 
By  telling  a  runaway  story; 

You  look  ar  his  ebonv  skin, 
And  think  of,  Ne  crede  colori! 

You  gaze  upon  beauty  that  vies 
With  the  rose  and  the  lily  in  glory, 

But  certain  "inscrutable  dyes  " 
Remind  you,  Ne  crede  colori! 

There  'a  possibly  health  in  the  flush 
That  rivals  the  red  of  Aurora; 

But  brandy-and-water  can  blush, 
And  whisper,  Ne  crede  colori! 

My  story  is  presently  done, 
Like  the  ballad  of  good  Mother  Morey 


CLOE  TO   CLARA. 


63 


But  all  imposition  to  shun, 
Remember,  Ne  crede  colon  ! 


CLARA   TO  CLOE. 

AN   EPISTLE   FROM   A   CITY    LADY    TO  A 
COUNTRY    COUSIN. 

DEAR  CLOE,  —I  'm  deeply  your  debtor 

(Though  the  mail  was  uncommonly 

slow) 
For  the  very  agreeable  letter 

You  wrote  me  a  fortnight  ago. 
I  know  you  are  eagerly  waiting 

For  all  that  I  promised  to  write, 
But  my  pen  is  unequal  to  stating 

One  half  that  my  heart  would  indite. 

The  weather  is  terribly  torrid  ; 

And  writing  's  a  serious  task  ; 
The  new  style  of  bonnet  is  horrid ; 

And  so  is  the  new-fashioned  hnsque  ; 
The  former  —  but  language  would  fail 

Were  its  epithets  doubly  as  strong  — 
The  latter  is  worn  with  a  tail 

Very  ugly  and  tediously  long  ! 

And  then  as  to  crinoline  —  Gracious  ! 

If  you  only  could  see  Cousiu  Ruth ! 
The  pictures,  for  once,  are  veracious, 

And  editors  utter  the  truth ! 
I  know  you  will  think  it  a  pity; 

And  every  one  makes  such  a  sneer 

of  it ; 
But  there  is  n't  a  saint  in  the  city 

Whose  skirts  are  entirely  clear  of  it ! 

And  then  what  a  fortune  of  stuff 

To  cover  the  skeleton  over  !  — 
Charles  says  the  idea  is  enough 

To  frighten  a  sensible  lover; 
And,  pretending  that  we  are  to  blame 

For  every  financial  declension, 
Swears  husbands  must  soon  do  the  same, 

If  wives  have  another  "extension"! 

The  town  is  exceedingly  dull, 

And  so  is  the  latest  new  farce  ; 
The  parks  are  uncommonly  full, 

But  beaux  are  deplorably  scarce ; 
They  're  gone  to  the  "  Springs  "  and  the 
"Falls," 

To    exhibit    their    greyhounds    and 

graces, 
And  recruit  at  —  what  Frederick  calls  — 

The  Brandy-and-Watering  Place* ! 


Since    my  former  epistle,   which    car- 
ried 

The  news  of  that  curious  plot,  — 
Of  Miss  S.  who  ran  off  —  and  was  mar- 
ried; 
Of  Miss   B.  who   ran  off — and  was 

not,  — 
There  is  n't  a  whisper  of  scandal 

To  keep  gentle  ladies  in  humor, 
And  Gossip,  the  pleasant  old  Vandal, 
Is  dying  for  want  of  a  rumor ! 

CLARA. 

P.  S.  —  But  was  n't  it  funny  ?  — 

Mrs.  Jones,  at  a  party  last  week 
(The  lady  so  proud  of  her  money, 
Of    whom   you  have   oft  heard  me 

speak), 
Appeared  so  delightfully  stupid, 

When  she  spoke,  through  the  squeak 

of  her  phthisic, 

Of  the  statue  of  Psyche  and  Cupid 
As  "  the  statute  of  Cuppid  and  Phys- 
ic" I  C. 


CLOE  TO   CLARA. 

A    SARATOGA   LETTER. 

DEAR    CLARA,  —  I    wish    you    were 
here : 

The  prettiest  spot  upon  earth  ! 
With  everything  charming,  my  dear, — 

Beaux,  badinage,  music,  and  mirth  ! 
Such  rows  of  magnificent  trees, 

Overhanging  such  beautiful  walks, 
Where  lovers  may  stroll,  if  they  please, 

And  indulge  in  the  sweetest  of  talks  ! 

We  go  every  morning,  like  geese, 

To  drink  at  the  favorite  Spring; 
Six  tumblers  of  water  apiece 

Is  simply  the  regular  thing; 
For  such  is  its  wonderful  virtue, 

Though  rather  unpleasant  at  first 
No  quantity  ever  can  hurt  you, 

Unless  you  should  happen  to  burst ! 

And  then,  what  a  gossiping  sight ! 

What  talk  about  William  and  Harry ; 
How  Julia  was  spending  last  night  ; 

And  why  Miss  Morton  should  marry  ! 
Dear  Clara,  I  've  happened  to  see 

Full  many  a  tea-table  slaughter ; 
But,  really,  scandal  with  tea 

Is  nothing  to  scandal  with  water  ! 


64 


THE   GREAT  MAGICIAN. 


Apropos  of  the  Spring  —  have  you  heard 

The  quiz  of  a  gentleman  here 
On  a  pompous  M.  C.  who  averred 

That  the  name  was  remarkably  queer  ? 
"The  Spring  —  to   keep  it   from   fail- 
ing— 

With  wood  is  encompassed  about, 
And  derives,  from  its  permanent  railing, 

The  title  of  '  Congress,'  no  doubt ! " 

'T  is  pleasant  to  guess  at  the  reason, 

The  genuine  motive,  which  brings 
Such  all  sorts  of  folks,  in  the  season, 

To  stop  a  few  days  at  the  Springs. 
Some  come  to  partake  of  the  waters 

(The  sensible,  old  fashioned  elves) ; 
Some  come  to  dispose  of  their  daugh- 
ters, 

And  some  to  dispose  of  —  themselves ! 

Some  come  to  exhibit  their  faces 

To  new  and  admiring  beholders ; 
Some  come  to  exhibit  their  graces, 

And  some  to  exhibit  their  shoulders ; 
Some  come  to  make  people  stare 

At  the  elegant  dresses  they  've  got ; 
Some  to  show  what  a  lady  may  wear, 

And  some  —  what  a  lady  should  not ! 

Some  come  to  squander  their  treasure, 

And  some  their  funds  to  improve  ; 
And  some  for  mere  love  of  pleasure, 

And  some  for  the  pleasure  of  love; 
And  some  to  escape  from  the  old, 

And  some  to  see  what  is  new  ; 
But  most  —  it  is  plain  to  be  told  — 

Come  here —  because  other  folks  do ! 

And  that,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason 

Why  /  am  enjoying,  to  day, 
What 's  called  "  the  height  —  of  the  sea- 
son" 

In  rather  the  loftiest  way. 
Good-by  —  for  now  I  must  stop  — 

To  Charley's  comnvmd  I  resign,  — 
So  I  'm  his  for  the  regular  hop, 

But  ever  most  tenderly  thine, 

CLOE. 


THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN. 

ONCE,  when  a  lad,  it  was  my  hap 
To  gain  my  mother's  kind  permission 

To  go  and  see  a  foreign  chap 
Who  called  himself  "The  Great  Ma- 
gician"; 


I  recollect  his  wondrous  skill 
In  divers  mystic  conjurations, 

And  how  the  fellow  wrought  at  will 
The  most  prodigious  transformations. 

I  recollect  the  nervous  man 

Within  whose  hat  the  great  deceiver 
Broke  eggs,  as  in  a  frying-pan, 

And  took  'em,   smoking,    from  the 

beaver ! 
I  recollect  the  lady's  shawl 

Which  the  magician  rent  asunder, 
And  then  restored  ;  but,  best  of  all, 

I  recollect  the  Ribbon- Wonder ! 

I  mean,  of  course,  the  funny  freak 

In  which  the  wizard,  at  his  pleasure, 
Spins  lots  of  ribbons  from  his  cheek 
(Where   he  had  hid  'em,  at  his  lei- 
sure). 

Yard  after  yard,  of  every  hue, 
Comes  blazing  out,  and  still  the  fel- 
low 

Keeps  spinning  ribbons,  red  and  blue, 
And  black  and  white,  and  green  and 
yellow! 

I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 
To  rank  with  the    immortal  "Pot- 
ter's " ; 3 

He 's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 
And  others  charm  our  sons  and  daugh- 
ters; 
Years  — years  have  fled  —  alas  !   hour 

quick, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magician, 
And  yet  I  've  seen  the  Ribbon-Trick 
In  many  a  curious  repetition ! 

Thus,  when  an  author  I  have  read 
Who  much  amazed  the  world  of  let- 
ters 
With  gems  his  fluent  pen  has  shed 

(All  nicely  pilfered  from  his  betters), 
Presto  !  —  't  is  done  !  —  and  all   com- 
plete, 

As  in  my  youth's  enraptured  vision, 
I  've  seen  again  the  Ribbon-Feat, 
And  thought  about  the  Great  Magi 
cian! 

So,  when  a  sermon  I  have  heard 
Made  up  of  bits  of  borrowed  learn 
ing, 

Some  cheap  mosaic  which  has  stirred 
The  wonder  of  the  undiscerning, 

Swift  as  a  flash  has  memory  then 
Recalled  the  ancient  exhibition ; 


THE  BLARNEY  STONE. 


65 


I  saw  the  Ribbon-Trick  again. 
And  thought  about  the  Great  Magi- 
cian! 

So  when  some  flippant  man-o'  jokes, 
Though    in    himself    no  dunce,   was 

duller, 
Has  dazzled  all  the  simple  folks 

With  brilliant  jests  of  every  color, 
I  've  whispered    thus    (while  fast  and 

thick 

The  changes  flashed  across  my  vis- 
ion) : — 

"  How  well  he  plays  the  Ribbon-Trick! 
By  Jove!  he  beats  the  Great  Magi- 


I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 
To   rank   with   the    immortal    "Pot- 
ter's " ; 
He  's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 

And  others  charm  our  sons  aud  daugh- 
ters ; 
Years  —  years  have  fled  —  alas  !    how 

quick, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magic:an, 
And  yet  I  've  seen  the  Ribbon-Trick 
In  many  a  curious  repetition  ! 


THE   BLARNEY   STONK. 


IN    Blarney    Castle,    on    a    crumbling 

tower. 
There  lies  a  stone  J above  your  readv 

reach), 
Which  to  the  lips  imparts,  't  is  said,  the 

power 
Of  facile   falsehood,   and   persuasive 

speech ; 
And  hence,  of  one  who  talks  in  such  a 

tone. 
The    peasants   sav,    "He's   kissed   the 

Blarney  Stone  !  " 


Thus,  when  I  see  some  flippant  tourist- 
swill 

With  secrets  wrested  from  an  Em- 
peror. 
And  hear  him  vaunt   his  braverv,  and 

tel 

How  0'iec  he  snubbed  a  Marquis,  I 
iui'er 


The  man  came  back  —  if  but  tlie  truth 

were  known  — 
By  wav  of  Cork,  and  kissed  the  Blarney 

'Stone ! 


So,   when    I    hear    a    shallow    dandy 

boast 
(In  the  long  ear  that  marks  a  brother 

dunce) 
What  precious  favors  ladies'  lips  have 

lost, 

To  his  advantage,  I  suspect,  at  once. 
The  fellow  's  lying  ;  that  the  dog  alone 
(Enough  for  him  !)  has  kissed  the  Blar 

uey  Stone ! 


When  some  fine  laily,  —  ready  to  de- 
fame 

An   absent   beauty,  with  as  sweet  a 
grace,  — 

With  seeming  rapture  greets  a  hated 

name, 

And  lauds  her  rival  to  her  wondering 
face ; 

E'en  Charity  herself  must  freely  own 

Some  women,  too,  have  kissed  the  Blar- 
ney Stone ! 


When  sleek  attorneys,  whose  seductive 

tongues, 

Smooth  with  the  unction  of  a  golden 
fee, 

•'Breathe  forth  huge  falsehoods  from, 

capacious  lungs  "  * 
(The  words  are  Juvenal's),  't  is  plain, 
to  see 

A  lawyer's  genius  is  n't  all  h.is  own  ; 

The  specious  rogue  has  kissed  the  Blar- 
ney Stone ! 


When  the  false  pastor,  from  his  fainting 

flock 

Withholds  the  Bread  of  Life,  the  gos- 
pel news, 

To   give    them   dainty   words,   lest   he- 
should  shock 

The    fragile    fabric    of    the    paying 
pews, 

Who  but  must  feel,  the  man,  to  Grace 
unknown, 

Has   kissed,  — not   Calvary, —but  the 
Blarney  Stone ! 

*  "  Immensa  cari  spirant  mendacia  folles." 


MOTHERS-IN-LA  W. 


ODE    TO    THE    PRINCE    OF 
WALES. 


INVITING   HIS   ROYAL    HIGHNESS   TO  A 
CODNTBY    COTTAGE. 

O  PRINCE  of  Wales ! 
Unless  my  judgment  fails, 
You  've  found  your  recent  travel  rather 

dreary ; 

I  don't  expect  an  answer  to  the  que- 
ry,— 

But  are  n't  yon  getting  weary  ? 
Weary  of  Bells,  and  Balls,  and  grand 

Addresses  1 

Weary  of  Military  and  their  messes? 
Weary  of  adulation  and  caresses  ? 
Weary   of  shouts  from   the    admiring 

masses  ' 
Weary    of    worship    from    the    upper 

"  classes  1 

Weary  of  horses,  may'rs,  and  asses  ? 
Of  course  't  was  kindly  meant, — 
But  don't  you  now  repent 
Your  good  Mamma's  consent 
That  you  should  be, 
This  side  the  sea, 

The  "  British  Lion  "  which  you  repre- 
sent? 
Pray  leave  your  city  courtiers  and  their 

capers, 

And  come  to  us;  we  've  no  pictorial  pa- 
pers; 

And  no  Reporters  to  distort  your  nose  ; 
Or  mark  the  awkward  carriage  of  your 

toes ; 
Your  style  of  sneezing,  and  such  things 

as  those ; 

Or,  meatier  still,  in  democratic  spite, 
Measure  your  Royal  Highness  by  vour 
height ! 

Then  come  to  us! 
We  're  not  the  sort  of  folk  to  make  a 

fuss, 
E'en  for  the  PRESIDENT  ;  but  then,  my 

boy, 
We  plumjily  promise  you  a  special  joy, 

'I  o  Princes  rarely  known, 
An  1  one    you  '11   never    find    about  a 

throne, 

To  wit,  the  bliss  of  being  It  alone  ! 
No  scientific  bores  from  Athenaeums ; 
No  noisy  guns,  nor  tedious  ie-de'tnt*, 
Shall  vex   vour  Royal  Highness  for  a 
minute; 


A  glass  of  lemonade,  with  "something in 

it," 
A  fragrant  meerschaum,  with  the  morn- 

iug  news, 
Or  sweet  Virginia  "  fine-cut,"  if  you 

choose,  — 
These,  and  what  else  your  Highness 

may  demand 

Of  simple  luxury,  shall  be  at  hand, 
And  at  your  royal  service.     Come! 
O  come  where  you  may  jrain 
(What  advertisers  oft  have  sought  in 

vain) 

"  The  comforts  of  a  home  "  ! 
Come,   Prince  of    Wales !  we  greatly 

need 

Your  roval  presence,  Sir,  —  we  do  in- 
deed: 
For  why  ?    we   have  a   pretty   hamlet 

here, 
But    then,    you    see,   't  is    equally  as 

clear 
(Your    Highness    understands    Shake- 

speriau  hints) 
A  Hamlet  is  n't  much  without  a  Prince! 


MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 

IF  you  ever  should  marry,  said  Major 
McGarth, 

While  smoking  a  pipe  by  my  bachelor- 
hearth, 

If  yon  ever  should  wed,  —  and  I  would 
n't  employ 

A  word  to  prevent  it,  my  broth  of  a 
boy,  — 

Remember  that  wedlock  's  a  company 
where 

The  parties,  quite  often,  are  more  than 
a  pair; 

'T  is  a  lott'rv  in  which  you  are  certain 
to  draw 

A  wife,  and,  most  likelv,  a  mother-in- 
law  ! 

What  the  latter  may  be  all  conjecture 

defies : 
She  is  never  a  blank  ;  she  is  seldom  a 

prize ; 
Sometimes  she  is  silly;  sometimes  she 

is  bold ; 
Sometimes  —  rather  worse  !  —  she  'a  9 

virulent  scold. 


NIL  ADMIRARL 


6T 


Von  dreamed  of  an  angel  to  gladden 
your  home, 

And  with  her  —  God  help  you !  —  a 
harpy  has  come ; 

5Tou  fished  for  a  wife  without  failing  or 
flaw, 

And  find  you  have  netted  —  a  mother- 
in-law  ! 

"  Dear  Anna,"  she  says,  "  as  you  clearly 

may  see, 
Has  always  been  used  to  depending  on 

me ; 
Poor  child !  though  the  gentlest  that 

ever  was  known, 
She  could  never  be  trusted  a  moment 

alone ; 
Such  sensitive  nerves,  and  such  delicate 

lungs ! " 
Cries  the  stoutest  of  dames   with  the 

longest  of  tongues. 
"  Like  mother  like  child  ;  you  remember 

the  saw  ; 

I  'm  weakly  myself,"  says  your  mother- 
in-law  ! 

But  your  mother-in-law,  you  discover 
erelong, 

Though  feeble  in  body,  in  temper  is 
strong ; 

And  so  you  surrender,  —  what  else  can 
you  do  ? 

She  governs  yonr  wife,  and  your  ser- 
vants, and  you  ; 

And  calls  you  a  savage,  the  coarsest  of 
brutes, 

For  trampling  the  carpet  with  mud  on 
your  boots ; 

And  vows  she  committed  a  stupid  "fox- 
paw  " 

In  rashly  becoming  your  mother-in-law ! 

And  so,  said  the  Major,  pray,  let  me 

advise 
The  carefullest  use  of  your  ears  and 

your  eyes ; 

And  ce'teris  paribus,  take  you  a  maid 
(Of  widows,  my  boy,  I  am  something 

afraid!) 
Who   gives  you  —  the    darling !  —  her 

hand  and  her  love. 
With    a  sigh   for  her    "dear    sainted 

mother  above ! " 
From  which  the  conclusion  you  safely 

may  draw, 

She  will  never  appear  as  your  mother- 
in-law! 


NIL  ADMIRARL 


WHEN  Horace  in  Vendusian  proves 
Was  scribbling  wit  or  sipping  "  Mas- 
sic," 

Or  singing  those  delicious  loves 
Which  after  ages  reckon  classic, 

He  wrote  one  day  —  't  was  no  vagary  — 

These  famous  words :  —  Nil  admirari  ! 


II. 

"  Wonder  at  nothing ! "  said  the  bard ; 

A  kingdom's  fall,  a  nation's  rising, 
A  lucky  or  a  losing  card, 

Are  really  not  at  all  surprising ; 
However  men  or  manners  vary, 
Keep  cool  and  calm;  Nil  admirari  1 


If  kindness  meet  a  cold  return ; 

If  friendship  prove  a  dear  delusion; 
If  love,  neglected,  cease  to  burn, 

Or  die  untimely  of  profusion, — 
Such  lessons  well  may  make  us  wary, 
But  need  n't  shock ;  'Nil  admirari ! 


Does  disappointment  follow  gain  ? 

Or  wealth  elude  the  keen  pursuer  ? 
Does  pleasure  end  in  poignant  pain  ? 

Does  fame  disgust  the  lucky  wooer, 
Or  haply  prove  perversely  chary  ? 
'T  was  ever  thus ;  Nil  admirari ! 


Does  January  wed  with  May, 
Or  ugliness  consort  with  beauty  ? 

Does  Piety  forget  to  pray  ? 

And,  heedless  of  connubial  duty, 

Leave  faithful  Ann  for  wanton  Mary  ? 

'T  is  the  old  tale ;  Nil  admirari! 


Ah  !  when  the  happy  day  we  reach 
When  promisors  are  ne'er  deceivers  ; 

When    parsons    practice    what     they 

preach, 
And  seeming  saints  are  all  believers, 

Then  the  old  maxim  you  may  vary, 

And  say  no  more,  Nit  admirari! 


68 


CARMEN  L^ETUM. 


THE  COQUETTE. 

A   PORTRAIT. 

"  Yon  'RE  clever  at  drawing,  I  own," 
Said  my  beautiful  cousin  Lisette, 

As  we  sat  by  the  window  alone, 
"  But  say,  can  you  paint  a  Coquette  ?  " 

"  Sbe  's  painted  already,"  quoth  I ; 
"Nay,  nay!"  said  the  laughing  Li- 
sette, 
"  Now    none    of    your   joking,  —  but 

try 
And  paint  me  a  thorough  Coquette." 

"  Well,  coqsin,"  at  once  I  began 
In  the  ear  of  the  eager  Lisette, 

"I  '11  paint  you  as  well  as  I  can 
That  wonderful  tiling,  a  Coquette. 

"  She  wears  a  most  beautiful  face  " 
("Of  course!"   said   the   pretty  Li- 
sette), 

"  And  is  n't  deficient  in  grace, 
Or  else  she  were  not  a  Coquette. 

"  And  then  she  is  daintily  made  " 
(A  smile  from  the  dainty  Lisette), 

"By  people  expert  in  the  trade 
Of  forming  a  proper  Coquette. 

"She  's  the  winningest  ways  with  the 

beaux  " 
("  Go  on  !  "  —  said   the  winning  Li 

sette), 
"But    there    is  n't    a    man    of   them 

knows 
The  mind  of  the  fickle  Coque'te  ! 

"  She    knows    how    to    weep    and    to 
sigh  " 

(A  sigh  from  the  tender  Lisette), 
"  But  her  weeping  is  all  in  my  eye, — 

Not  that  of  the  cunning  Coquette ! 

*  In  short,  she 's  a  creature  of  art  " 
("  Oh  hush  !"  said  the  frowning  Li- 
sette), 

"  With  merely  the  ghost  of  a  heart, — 
Enough  for  a  thorough  Coquette. 

'And  yet  I  could  easily  prove  " 
("Now  don't!"  said  the  angry  Li- 
sette), 

••  The  lady  is  always  in  love,  — 
In  love  with  herself,  —  the  Coquette  ! 


"  There,  —  do    not    be    angry  !  —  yon 

know, 

My  dear  little  cousin  Lisette, 
You  told  me  a  moment  ago 

To     paint     you  —  a    thorough    Co 
quette  ! 


CARMEN  L^TUM. 

RECITED,  AFTER  DINNER,  BEFORE  THE, 
ALUMNI  OF  MIDDLEBUKY  COLLEGE, 
AT  THEIR  SEMI-CENTENNIAL  CELE- 
BRATION, AUGUST  22,  1850. 

A  RIGHT  loving  welcome,  my  true- 
hearted  Brothers, 

Who  have  come  out  to  visit  the  kindest 
of  mothers; 

You  mav  think  as  vou  will,  but  there 
is  n't  a  doubt 

Alma  Mater  rejoices,  and  knows  you  are 
out ! 

Rejoices  to  see  you  i«  gratitude  here, 

Returning  to  honor  her  fiftieth  year. 

And  while  the  good  lady  is  so  over- 
come 

With  maternal  emotion,  she  's  stricken 
quite  dumb 

(A  thing.  I  must  own,  that 's  enough  to 
perplex 

A  shallow  observer,  who  thinks  tliat  the 
sex, 

Whatever  may  be  their  internal  reveal- 
iuj:s, 

Can  never  be  pained  with  unspeakable 
feelings), 

Indulge  me,  dear  Brothers,  nor  think 
me  511- bred, 

If  I  venture  a  moment  to  speak  in  her 
stead. 

I,  who,  though  the  humblest  and  home- 
liest one, 

Feel  the  natural  pride  of  a  dutiful  son, 

And  esteem  it  to-day  the  profouudest  of 
joys. 

That,  not  less  than  yourselves,  I  am  one 
of  the  boys ! 

First  as  to  her  health,  which,  I  'm 
sorry  to  say, 

Has  been  better,  no  doubt,  than  she  finds 
it  to-day ; 

Yet  when  you  reflect  she  's  been  some- 
what neglected, 

She  's  really  as  well  as  could  well  be  ex 
pec  ted; 


CARMEN  LsVTUM. 


69 


And,  spite  of  ill-treatment  and  prema- 
ture fears, 

Is  a  hearty  old  lady,  for  one  of  her 
years. 

Indeed,  I  must  tell  vou  a  bit  of  a 
tale, 

To  show  you  she 's  feeling  remarkably 
hale ; 

How  she  turned  up  her  nose,  but  a  short 
time  ago, 

At  a  rather  good-looking  importunate 
beau, 

And  how  she  refused,  with  a  princess- 
like  carriage 

"  A  very  respectable  offer  of  marriage."  * 

You  see,  my  dear  Brothers,  a  neigh- 
boring College 

Who  values  himself  on  the  depth  of  his 
knowledge 

With  a  prayer  for  her  love,  and  an  eye 
to  her  land, 

Walked  up  to  the  lady  and  offered  his 
hand. 

For  a  minute  or  so  she  was  all  in  a  flut- 
ter, 

And  had  not  a  word  she  could  audibly  j 
utter ; 

For  she  felt  in  her  bosom,  beyond  all 
concealing, 

A  kind  of  a  —  sort  of  a — widow-like  | 
feeling ! 

But  recovering  soon  from  the  delicate  | 
shock, 

She  held  up  her  head  like  an  old-fash- 
ioned clock, 

And,  with  proper  composure,  went  on 
and  defined, 

In  suitalile  phrases,  the  state  of  her 
mind  ; 

Said  she  would  n't  mind  changing  her 
single  condition 

Could  she  fairly  expect  to  improve  her 
position ; 

And  thus,  by  some  words  of  equivocal 
scope, 

Gave  her  lover  decided  "  permission  to 
hope." 

tt  were  idle  to  talk  of  the  billing  and 
cooing 

The  amorous  gent'eman  used  in  his 
wooing ; 


*  Allusion  is  had,  in  this  and  si  b-eqnent 
Jines,  to  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  unite  Mid 
dlebury  College  with  the  University  of  Ver- 
mont. The  affair  is  here  treated  with  the  license 
of  a  dinner  poem,  and  with  the  partiality  per- 
mitted  to  the  occasion.  j 


Or  how  she  replied  to  his  pressing  ad 

vances, 

His  oscular  touches  and  ocular  glances : 
"T  is  enough  that  his  courtship,  by  all 

that  is  known, 
Was  quite  the  old  story,  and  much  like 

ytmr  own ! 

Thus  the  matter  went  on,  till  the  lady 

found  out, 
One  very  fine  day,  what  the  rogue  was 

about,  — 
That  all  that  he  wanted   was  merely 

that  power 

By  marital  license  to  pocket  her  dower, 
And  then  to  discard  her  in  sorrow  and 

shame, 
Bereaved  of  her  home  and  her  name  and 

her  fame. 
In  deep  indignation  she  turned  on  her 

heel, 
With   such  withering  scorn  as  a  lady 

might  feel 

For  a  knave,  who,  in  stealing  her  mini- 
ature case, 
Should  take  the  gold  setting,  and  leave 

her  the  face ! 
But  soon  growing  calm  as  the  breast  of 

the  deep, 
When  the  breezes  are  hushed  that  the 

waters  may  sleep, 

She  sat  in  her  chair,  like  a  dignified  elf, 
And  thus,  while  I  listened,  she  talked 

to  herself:  — 
"  Nay,  't  was  idle  to  think  of  so  foolish 

a  plan 

As  a  match  with  this  pert  University- 
man, 
For  I  have  n't  a  chick  but  would  redden 

with  shame 

At  the  very  idea  of  my  losing  my  name ; 
And  would"  feel  that  no  sorrow  so  heavy 

could  come 
To  his  mother  as  losing  her  excellent 

home 
'T  is  true  I  am  weak,  but  my  children 

are  strong, 
And  won't  see  me   suffer  privation  or 

wrong ; 
So,  away  with  the  dream  of  connubial 

joys, 
I  '11  stick  to  the  homestead,  and  look  to 

the  boys ! " 

How  joyous,  my  friends,  is  the  cordial 

greeting 

Which  gladdens  the  heart  at  a  family 
meeting ; 


TO 


CARMEN  L&TUM. 


When  brothers  assemble  at  Friendship's 
old  shrine 

To  look  at  the  present,  and  talk  of 
"  Lang  Syne  " ! 

Ah  !  well  I  remember  the  halcyon  years, 

Too  earnest  for  laughter,  too  pleasant 
for  tears, 

When  life  was  a  boon  in  yon  classical 
court, 

Chough  lessons  were  long,  and  though 
commons  were  short ! 

Ah !  well  I  remember  those  excellent 
men, 

Professors  and  tutors,  who  veigued  o'er 
us  then ; 

Who  guided  our  feet  over  Science's  bogs, 

And  led  us  quite  safe  through  Philoso- 
phy's fogs. 

Ah  !  well  1  remember  the  President's  * 
face, 

As  he  sat  at  the  lecture  with  dignified 
grace, 

And  neatly  unfolded  the  mystical  themes 

Of  various  deep  metaphysical  schemes, — 

How  he  brightened  the" path  of  his  stu- 
dious flock, 

As  he  gave  them  a  key  to  that  wonder- 
ful Locke; 

How  he  taught  us  to  feel  it  was  fatal  in- 
deed 

Wiih  too  much  reliance  to  lean  upon 
Reid  ; 

That  Stncart  was  sounder,  but  wrong  at 
the  last, 

From  following  his  master  a  little  too 
fast, — 

Then  closed  the  discourse  in  a  scholarly 
tone, 

With  a  clear  and  intelligent  creed  of  his 
own. 

That  the  man  had  his  faults  it  were  safe 
to  infer, — 

Though  I  really  don't  recollect  what 
they  were,  — 

I  barely  remember  this  one  little  truth, 

Whrn  his  case,  was  discussed  by  the  crit- 
ical youth, 

The  Seniors  and  Freshmen  were  sure  to 
divide, 

And  the  former  were  all  on  the  Presi- 
dent's side ! 

And  well  I  remember  another,  whose 

praise 

Were  a  suitable  theme  for  more  elegant 
lays; 

*  Joshua  Bates,  D.  D. 


But  even  in  numbers  ungainly  and 
rough, 

I  must  mention  the  name  of  our  glori- 
ous HOCGH ! 

Who  does  not  remember  ?  for  who  can 
forget, 

Till  Memory's  star  shall  forever  have  set, 

How  he  sat  in  his  place  unaffected  and 
bold, 

And  taught  us  more  truths  than  the  les- 
son had  told  ? 

Gave  a  lift  to  "Old  NOL,"  for  the  love 
of  the  right, 

And  a  slap  at  the  Stuarts,  with  cordial 
spite ; 

And,  quite  in  the  teeth  of  conventional 
rules, 

Hurled  his  adjectives  down  upon  tyrants 
and  fools  ? 

But,  chief,  he  excelled  in  his  proper  vo- 
cation 

Of  giving  the  classics  a  classic  transla- 
tion ; 

In  Latin  and  Greek  he  was  almost  orac- 
ular, 

And,  what 's  more  to  his  praise,  under- 
stood the  vernacular. 

Oh,  't  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  make 
English  of  Greek, 

Till  you  felt  that  tu  tongue  was  inher- 
ently weak ; 

While  Horace  in  Latin  seemed  quite 
understated, 

And  rejoiced  like  old  Enoch  in  being 
translated  ! 

And  others  there  were  —  btit  the  hour 
would  fail, 

To  bring  them  all  up  in  historic  detail ; 

And  vet  I  would  give,  ere  the  moment 
"  has  fled, 

A  sigh  for  the  absent,  a  tear  for  the 
dead. 

There  's  not  one  of  them  all,  where'er 
he  may  rove, 

In  the  shadows  of  earth,  or  the  glories 
above, 

In  the  home  of  his  birth,  or  in  lands  far 
away, 

But  comes  back  to  be  kindlv  remem- 
bered to  day ! 

One  little  word  more,  and  my  duty  is 

done ; — 
A  health   to  our    Mother,   from   eact 

mother's  son! 
Unfading     in     beauty,    increasing     in 

strength, 


POST-PRANDIAL    VERSES. 


71 


May  she  flourish  in  heaUh  through  the 

century's  length ; 
And  next  when  her  children  come  round 

her  to  boast, 
May  Esto  perpetua  then  be  the  toast ! 


MY  BOYHOOD. 

AH  me  !  those  joyous  days  are  gone  ! 
I  little  ilreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 

How  Meeting  were  the  hours ! 
For,  lest  he  break  the  pleasing  spell, 
Time  hears  for  youth  a  muffled  bell, 

And  hides  his" face  in  flowers! 

Ah  !  well  I  mind  me  of  the  days, 

Still  bright  iu  memory's  flattering  rays, 

When  all  was  fair  and  new  ; 
When  knaves  were  only  found  in  hooks, 
And   friends  were   known   by  friendly 
looks, 

And  love  was  always  true ! 

While  yet  of  sin  I  scarcely  dreamed, 
And  everything  was  what  it  seemed, 

And  all  too  bright  for  choice ; 
When  fays  were  wont  to  guard  my  sleep, 
And  Crusoe  still  could  m.ike  me  weep, 

And  Santa  Glaus,  rejoice  ! 

When    heaven    was    pictured    to     my 

thought 
(In  spite  ot  all  my  mother  taught 

Of  happiness  serene) 
A  theatre  of  boyish  plavs, — 
One  glorious  round  of  holidays, 

Without  a  school  between  ! 

Ah  me!  those  joyous  days  are  «one! 
I  little  dreamt,  till  thev  were  flown, 

How  hWting  were  the  hours  ! 
For,  lesr  he  break  the  pleasing  spell, 
Time  bears  for  youth  a  muffled  bell, 

Auu  hides  his  face  in  flowers ! 


POST-PRANDIAL   VERSES. 

RECITED  AT  THE  FESTIVAL  OF  THE 
PSI  OPSILON  FRATERNITY.  IX  BOS- 
TON, JULY  21,  1853. 

DEAR  Brothers,  who  sit  at  this  bounti- 
ful board, 
With  excellent  viands  so  lavishly  stored 


That,  in  newspaper  phrase,  t  would  un- 
doubt  dly  t/roan, 

If  groaning  were  but  a  convivial  tone, 

Which  it.  is  n't,  — and  therefore,  by  sym- 
pathy led, 

The  table,  no  doubt,  is  rejoicing  instead. 

Dear  Brothers,  I  rise,  —  and  it  won't  be 
surprising 

If  you  find  me,  like  bread,  all  the  better 
for  rising,  — 

I  rise  to  express  my  exceeding  delight 

In  our  cordial  reunion  this  glorious 
night! 

Success  to  "  PSI  UPSILON!"  —  Beauti- 
ful name!  — 

To  the  eye  and  the  ear  it  is  pleasant  the 
same  ; 

Many  thanks  to  old  Cadmus  who  made 
us  his  debtors, 

By  inventing,  one  day,  those  capital  let- 
ters 

Which  still,  from  the  heart,  we  shall 
know  how  to  s|>eak 

When  we  Ve  fairly  forgotten  the  rest  of 
our  Greek  f 

To  be  open  and  honest  in  all  that  you 
do; 

To  every  high  trust  to  be  faithful  and 
true ; 

In  aught  that  concerns  morality's 
scheme, 

To  be  more  ambitious  to  be  than  to 
seem ; 

To  cultivate  honor  as  higher  in  worth 

Than  favor  of  fortune,  or  genius,  or 
birth ; 

By  every  endeavor  to  render  your  lives 

As  spotless  and  fair  as  your — possible 
wives ; 

To  treat  with  respect  all  the  innocent 
rules 

That  keep  us  at  peace  with  society's 
fools; 

But  to  face  every  canon  that  e'er  was  de- 
signed 

To  batter  a  town  or  beleaguer  a  mind, 

Ere  yon  yield  to  the  Moloch  that  Fash- 
ion has  reared 

One  jot  of  your  freedom,  or  hair  of  vour 
beard,— 

All  this,  and  much  more,  I  might  ven- 
ture to  teach, 

Had  I  only  a  "call"  —  and  a  "license 
to  preach  " ; 

But  since  I  have  not,  to  my  modesty 
true, 

I  '11  lay  it  all  by,  as  a  layman  should  do, 


72 


LOOKING  OUT  INTO   THE  NIGHT. 


/Vnd  drop  a  few  lines,  tipt  with  Momns's 

flies, 
To  angle  for  shiners  —  that  lurk  in  your 

eyes ! 

May  you  ne'er  get  in  love  or  in  debt 
"with  a  doubt 

As  to  whether  or  no  you  will  ever  get 
out; 

May  you  ne'er  have  a  mistress  who  plays 
the  coquette, 

Or  a  neighbor  who  blows  on  a  cracked 
clarionet ; 

May  you  learn  the  first  use  of  a  lock  on 
your  door, 

And  ne'er,  like  Adorn*,  be  killed  by  a 
bore ; 

Shun  canting  and  canters  with  resolute 
force 

(A  "canter"  5s  shocking,  except  in  a 
horse) ; 

At  jovial  parties  wind  what  you  are  at, 

Beware  of  your  head  and  take  care  of 
your  hat, 

Lest  you  find  that  a  favorite  son  of  your 
mother 

Has  a  brick  in  the  one  and  an  ache  in 
the  other ; 

May  you  never,  I  prav,  to  worry  your 
life, 

Have  a  weak-minded  friend,  or  a  strong- 
minded  wife ; 

A  tailor  distrustful,  or  partner  suspi- 
cious ; 

A  dog  that  is  rabid,  or  nag  that  is 
vicious ; 

Above  all  —  the  chief  blessing  the  gods 
can  impart  — 

May  you  keep  a  clear  head  and  a  gen- 
erous heart; 

Remember  't  is  blesse'd  to  give  and  for- 
give ; 

Live  chiefly  to  love,  and  love  while  yon 
live; 

And  dying,  when  life's  little  journey  is 
done, 

May  your  last,  fondest  sigh,  be  PSI 
UPSILON! 


THE  SILVER  WEDDING. 

TO  JOHN   NEWMAN,  D.  D. 

"A  WEDDING  of  Silver! — and  what 

shall  we  do  ?  " 
I  said   in    response  to  my  excellent 


Who  hinted,  this  morning,  we  ought  to 

renew 

According  to   custom,  our   conjugal 
vowa. 

"I  would  n't  much  mind  it,  now  —  if  — 

and  suppose  — 
The  bride  were  a  blooming  —  Ah  '. 

well  —  on  my  life, 
I  think  —  to  be  candid  —  (don't  turn  u;i 

your  nose !) 

That  every  new  wedding  should  bring 
a  new  wife  !  " 

"  And   what  if   it  should  ? "  was  the 

laughing  reply ; 
"Do  you  think,  my  dear  John,  you 

could  ever  obtain 

Another  so  fond  and  so  faithful  as  I, 
Should  you  purchase  a  wig,  and  go 
courting  again  ?  " 

"Ah  !  darling,"  I  answered,  "'t  is  just 

as  you  say  ; " 
And  clasping  a  waist  rather  shapely 

than  small, 
I  kissed  the  dear  girl  in  so  ardent  a 

way 

You  would  n't  have  guessed  we  were 
married  at  all ! 

Afy  weddincr-day,  Doctor,  is  also  your 

own  ! 
And  so  I  send  greeting  to  bridegroom 

and  bride,  — 
The   latter  a  wife  good  as  ever  was 

known  ; 

The  former  well  worthy  her  homage 
and  pride. 

God   bless  your  new   nuptials  !  —  Still 

happy  at  home, 
May   you   both    grow   serenely    and 

gracefully  old ; 
And,  till  the  auriferous  wedding  shall 

come, 
Find  the  years  that  are  past  were  as 

silver  to  gold  ! 
September  9, 1866. 


LOOKING  OUT  INTO   THE 
NIGHT. 

LOOKING  out  into  the  night, 
I  behold  in  space  afar 
Yonder  beaming,  blazing  star ; 


DE  MUSA. 


73 


And  I  marvel  at  the  might 

Of  the  Giver  of  the  rays, 

And  I  worship  as  I  gaze, 
Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  espy  two  lovers  near, 
And  their  happy  words  I  hear, 

While  their  solemn  troth  they  plight; 
And  I  bless  the  loving  twain, 
Half  in  pleasure,  half  ha  pain,  — 

Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
Lo  !  a  woman  passing  by, 
Glancing  round  with  anxious  eye, 

Tearful,  fearful  of  the  light ; 

And  I  think  what  might  have  been 
But  for  treachery  and  siu, — 

Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  behold  a  distant  sail 
Roughly  beaten  by  the  gale 

Till  it  vaiiishes  from  sight ; 
And  I  ponder  on  the  strife 
Of  our  fleeting  human  life, 

Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  bethink  me  of  the  rest 
And  the  rapture  of  the  blest 

In  the  land  where  all  is  light ; 
Sitting  on  the  heavenly  shore, 
Weeping  never,  — nevermore 

Looking  out  into  the  night ! 


THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW. 

GOOD-BY,  Old  Year !     I  can  but  say, 
Sadly  I  see  thee  passing  away ; 
Passing  away   with   the    hopes    and 

fears, 
The  bliss  and  pain,  the  smiles    and 

tears, 
That  come  to  us  all  in  all  the  years. 

Good- by,  Old  Year !     Little  indeed 
Thy  friendly  voice  we  were   wont  to 

heed, 

Telling  us,  warning  us  every  day :  — 
"  Transient  mortals  !  work  and  pray ; 
You,  like  me,  are  passing  away  !  "  ' 

Good-by,  Old  Year  !    Whatever  may  be 
The  sins  and  stains  thou  hast  chanced 
to  see, 


Consider,  0  Year  !  to  purge  the  same, 
And  wash  away  the  sin  and  shame, 
Whilst   thou  wert  passing,  CHRIST- 
MAS came ! 

Good-by,  Old  Year!     With  words  ot 

grace 

Leave  us  to  him  who  takes  thy  place  ; 
And  say,  Old  Year,  unto  the  New, 
"  Kindly,     carefully,      carry     them 

through, 

For  much,  I  ween,  they  have  yet  to 
do!" 


DE   MUSA. 


"  WRITE  a  poem  —  solemn  —  < 

Worthy  of  your  muse  !  " 
Ah !  whe'n  loving  lips  command  me, 

How  can  I  refuse  ? 
But  the  subject !  —  that 's  the  pother  — 

What  am  I  to  choose  ? 

War  ?     The  theme  is  something  hack- 
neyed ; 

Since  old  Homer's  time, 
Half  the  minstrels,  large  and  little, 

Have  been  making  rhyme 
With  intent  to  prove  that  murder 

(Wholesale)  is  sublime ! 

Love  1     A  most  delicious  topic ; 

But  how  many  score, 
Nav,  how  many  thousand  poets 

Deal  in  Cupid's  lore. 
From  Anacreon  to  Catullus, 

Not  to  mention  Moore. 

Grief  1     Ah  !  little  joy  has  Sorrow 

In  the  mimic  art ; 
Can  the  lyre's  melodious  moaning 

Ease  the  mourner's  smart, 
Though  the  strings  were  very  fibres 

Of  the  player's  heart  ? 

Nature,  —  posies,  woods  and  waters  ? 

Everlasting  themes,  — 
Can  the  poets,  in  the  rapture 

( )f  their  finest  dreams, 
Paint  the  lily  of  the  valley 

Fairer  than  she  seems  ? 

Metaphysics  ?     Quite  in  fashion,  — 

But  Apollo's  curse 
Blasts  the  syllogistic  rhymer ; 

Why  should  I  rehearse 


74 


KOGER  BONTEMPS. 


Kant  in  cantos,  or  old  Plato 
Torture  into  verse  ? 

Humor,  satire,  fun,  and  fancy, 
Wit  with  wisdom  blent,  — ' 

These,  to  give  my  Muse  amusement, 
Heaven  has  kindlv  lent  ; 

Let  her  live  and  die  "a-laughing, 
1  shall  be  content ! 


AUGUSTA. 

"  Incedit  regina  !  " 

"  HANDSOME  and  haughty  ! "  —  a  com- 
ment that  came 

From  lips   which   were   never  accus- 
tomed to  malice ; 
A  girl   with  a    presence    superb  as  her 

name. 
And  charmingly  fitted  for  love — in 

a  palace ! 
And  oft  I  have  wished  (for  in  musing 

alone 

One's  fancy  is  apt  to  be  very  erratic) 
That   the    lady    might   wear —  No !   I 

never  will  own 

A  thought  so  decidedly  undemocrat- 
ic!— 

But  (ft  were  a  coronet  —  this  I  '11  aver, 
No  duchess  on  earth  could  more  grace- 
fully wear  it ; 

And  even  a  democrat,  thinking  of  her, 
Might  surely  be  pardoned  for  wishing 
to  share  it ! 


ROGER  BONTEMPS. 

IMITATED    FROM    BERANGER, 
I. 

By  way  of  good  example 

To  all  the  gloomy  clan, 
There  came  into  existence 

Good  Robin  Merrvman. 
To  laugh  at  those  who  grumble, 

And  be  jolly  as  he  can, — 
Oh  that  'a  the  only  system 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 

ii. 

A  hat  so  very  ancient 
It  might  have  covered  Moses, 


Adorned,  on  great  occasions, 
With  ivy-leaves  or  roses; 

A  coat  the  very  coarsest 
Since  tailoring  began, — 

Oh  that's  the  gav  apparel 
Of  Robin  Meriyman ! 


Within  his  cottage  Robin 

With  joyful  eye  regards 
A  table  and  a  bedstead, 

A  flute,  a  pack  of  cards, 
A  chest,  with  nothing  in  it, 

An  earthen  water-can, — 
Oh  these  are  all  the  riches 

Of  Robin  Merrvman  ! 


To  teach  the  village  children 

The  funniest  kind  of  plays; 
To  tell  a  clever  story  ; 

To  dance  on  holidays ; 
To  puzzle  through  the  almanac  -, 

A  merry  sonjj  to  scan, — 
Oh  that  is  all  the  learning 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 


To  drink  his  mug  of  cider, 

And  never  sigh  for  wine  ; 
To  look  at  courtly  ladies, 

Yet  thiuk  his  of  Off  divine ; 
To  take  the  good  that 's  going, 

Content  with  nature's  plan, — 
Oh  that  is  the  philosophy 

Of  Robin  Merryman! 


To  say,  "  O  Gracious  Father ! 

Excuse  my  merry  pranks  ; 
For  all  thy  loving-kindness 

I  give  thee  hearty  thanks  ; 
And  may  I  still  be  jolly 

Through  life's  remaining  span, 
Oh  that 's  the  style  of  praving 

With  Robin  Merrvman"! 


Now,  all  ye  wretched  mortals 

Aspiring  to  be  rich  ; 
And  ye  whose  gilded  coaches 

Have  tumbled  in  the  ditch ; 
Leave  off  your  silly  whining, 

Adopt  a"  wiser  plan  ; 
Go  follow  the  example 

Of  Robin  Merryman  1 


THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  MILKMAID. 


75 


THE  KING  OF  NORMANDY. 

FROM  BERAXGER'B  "  LE  ROI  D'TVI 
TOT." 


IN  Normandy  there  reigned  a  king 

(I  've  quite  forgot  his  name) 
Who  led  a  jolly  sort  of  life, 

And  did  n't  care  for  fame. 
A  nightcap  w;is  his  crown  of  state, 
Which  Jenny  placed  upon  his  pate. 
Ha !  ha !  laugh  and  sing  : 
Oh  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 


He  ate  his  meals,  like  other  folk, 

Slept  soundly  and  secure, 
And  on  a  donkey  every  year 

He  made  his  royal  tour ; 
A  little  dog  —  it  was  his  whim  — 
Was  body-guard  enough  for  him. 
Ha  !  ha  !  laugh  and  sing  : 
Oh  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 


A  single  foible  he  confessed,  — 

A  tendency  to  drink  ; 
But  kings  who  heed  their  subjects'  need 

Should  mind  their  own,  I  think  ; 
And  thus  it  was  his  tax  he  got, — 
For  every  cask  an  extra  pot. 
Ha  !  ha  !  laugh  and  sing  : 
Oh  was  n't  he  a  funny  king1? 


The  lasses  loved  this  worthy  king  ; 

And  many  a  merry  youth 
Would  hail  his  majesty  as  "  Sire," 

And  often  spoke  the  truth. 
He  viewed  his  troops  in  goodly  ranks, 
But  still  their  cartridges  were  blanks. 
Ha  !  ha !  laugh  and  sing  : 
Oh  was  n't  he  a  funny  king  ? 


He  never  stole  his  neighbor's  land 

To  magnify  his  realm ; 
But  steered  his  little  ship  of  state 

With  honor  at  the  helm  ; 
And  when  at  last  the  king  was  dead, 
No  wonder  all  the  people  said,  — 

"  Ah  !  ah !   weep  and  sing : 
Oh  was  n't  he  a  noble  king  1  " 


THE   HUNTER  AND  THE   MILK- 
MAID. 

FROM  BERANGER'S  "  LE  CHASSEUR  ET 
LA  LAITIERE." 


THE  lark  is  singing  her  matin  lay, 
Oh  come  with  me,  fair  maiden,  I  pray ; 
Sweet,  oh  sweet  is  the  morning  hour, 
And  sweeter  still  is  yon  ivied  bower ; 
Wreaths  of  roses  I  '11  twine  for  thee, 
Oh  come,  fair  maiden,  along  with  me  ! 

Ah !  Sir  Hunter,  my  mother  is  near; 

I  really  must  n't  be  loitering  here. 


Thy  mother,  fair  maiden,  is  far  away, 
And  never  will  listen  a  word  we  say. 
I  '11  sing  thee  a  song  that  ladies  sing 
In  royal  castles  to  please  the  king ; 
A  wondrous  song,  whose  magical  charm 
Will  keep  the  singer  from  every  harm. 
Fie !  Sir  Hunter,  a  fig  for  your  song, 
Good  by  !  for  I  must  be  going  along. 


Ah  !  well,  if  singing  will  not  prevail, 
I  '11  tell  thee,  then,  a  terrible  tale ; 
'T  is  all  about  a  Baron  so  bold, 
Huge  and  swart,  and  ugly  and  old, 
Who  saw  the  ghost  of  his  murdered 

wife,  — 
A  pleasant  story,  upon  my  life ! 

Ah  !  Sir  Hunter,  the  story  is  flat ; 

/  know  one  worth  a  dozen  of  that. 


I  '11  teach  thee,  then,  a  curious  prayer 
Of  wondrous  power  the  wolf  to  scare, 
And  frighten  the  witch  that  hovers  nigh 
To  blight  the  young  with  her  evil  eye. 
O  guard,  fair  maiden,  thy  beauty  well, 
A  fearful  thing  is  her  wicked  spell ! 

Oh,  I  can  read  my  missal,  you  know. 

Good  by,  Sir  Hunter,  for  I  must  go. 


Nay,  tarry  a  moment,  my  charming  girl : 
Here  is  a  jewel  of  gold  and  pearl ; 
A  beautiful  cross  it  is,  I  ween, 
As  ever  on  beauty's  breast  was  seen. 
There  's  nothing  at  all  but  love  to  pay ; 
Take  it,  and  wear  it,  but  only  stay  ! 

Ah!    Sir    Hunter,     what    excellent 
taste! 

I'm   not  —  in   such  —  particular  — 


76 


THE  DINNER. 


THE  POET  TO  HIS  GARRET. 

FROM    BERANGER. 

THRICE  welcome  the  place   where  at 

twenty  I  sought 
A  nest  for  myself  and  my  darling 

grisette ; 
Where  I  learned  the  queer  lessons  that 

poverty  taught. 

And  with  'friendship  and   love  ban- 
ished care  and  regret. 
'T  was  here  that  we  managed  our  social 

affairs, 
Unheeding    what    dunces    or    sages 

might  say ; 
How  lightly  I  bounded  up  six  pair  o' 

stairs ! 
Ah  !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay ! 

'T  was  only  a  garret !  the  table  stood 

here; 
And   there   a  flock-bed,  —  't  was  the 

best  we  could  get ; 

And  here  on  the  plaster  in  charcoal  ap- 
pear 
Three  lines  of  a  poem,  unfinished  as 

yet. 
"  Come    back    to    me,   Pleasures  ! "  I 

eagerly  shout  ; 
"  To  keep"  yon  alive  in  my  juvenile 

day 
How  oft  my  repeater  was  '  put  up  the 

spout ! ' 
Ah  !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is  gay  ! 

My  laughing  Lisette!  would  she  only 

come  back. 
In    her   jaunty    straw    bonnet    how 

charming  was  she ! 
Fnll  well   I  remember   her    dexterous 


Of  hanging  her  shawl  where  the  cur- 
tain should  be ; 

Love!    kiss  her  silk   gown  with    your 
fondest  caress ; 

You  know  where  she  got  it,  I  venture 

to  say. 

t  never  was  certain  who  paid  for  the 
dress ; 

Ah  !   life  in  a  garret  at   twenty  is 
gay! 

One    notable    day   in    those    glorious 

years, 

As  we  sat  in  the  midst  of  our  feasting 
and  fun, 


I  A  shout  from  the  people  saluted  our 

ears, 
"  Napoleon    is    victor !    Marengo    is 

won ! " 

I  A  new  song  of  triumph  at  once  we  es- 
sayed, 

While  cannon  were  blazing  and  boom- 
ing away, 
j  "The  free  soil  of   France  kings  shall 

never  invade !  " 

Ah !   life   in  a   garret   at  twenty    is 
gay! 

Away  !  I  must  go  lest  my  reason  shoul.l 

reel ; 

For  one  of  those  davs  I  would  cheer- 
fully give, 
With  the  pulses  of  youth  that  no  longer 

I  feel, 
All  the  lingering  years  I  am  destined 

to  live; 
The  love,  hope,  and  joy  that  at  twenty 

I  had, 
To    have    them     condensed    in    one 

glorious  day, 

Like  those  that  I  spent  when  a  light- 
hearted  lad  ! 

Ah!  life   in  a  garret    at    twenty  is 
gay! 


THE   DINNER. 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  GOETHE. 

AH  !  many  a  guest  is  coming 

Around  my  table  to-day  ; 
The  fish,  the  flesh,  and  the  poultry 

Are  smoking  in  goodly  array ; 
j  The  invitations  were  special, 

They  say  they  will  surelv  appear. 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window ; 

Time  that  the  people  were  here  ! 

Girls  are  cominsr  by  dozens, 

Maidens  whom  even  their  foes 
Never  have  once  detected 

Kissing  beneath  the  rose ; 
Such  are  the  damsels  invited  ; 

They  said  they  would  surely  appear 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window ; 

Time  that  the  maidens  were  here ! 

Plenty  of  fine  young  fellows 

Are  coming  to  drink  my  health ; 

Civil,  and  moral,  and  modesr, 
Spite  of  their  titles  and  wealth. 


THE  BEST  OF  HUSBANDS. 


77 


The  invitations  were  early  ; 

They  sny  they  will  surely  nppear. 
Hans,  go  look  a't  the  window; 

Time  that  the  younkers  were  here  ! 

Plenty  of  wives  are  coming, 

Such  as  the  ugliest  spouse 
Never  has  driven  a  moment 

To  think  of  breaking  their  vows. 
How  pleasant  to  see  them  together ! 

They  said  they  won  d  surely  appear. 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window  ; 

Time  that  the  women  were  here  ! 

Husbands  also  are  coming, 

Models  of  temperate  lives; 
Men  who  are  blind  to  beauty, 

Save  in  their  excellent  wives. 
All  were  politely  invited, 

And  say  they  will  surely  appear. 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window; 

Time  that  the  fellows  were  here ! 

Poets  are  also  invited  ; 

The  pleasantest  ever  were  known  ; 
Who  list  to  another's  verses 

Cheerfully  as  to  their  own  ; 
What  capital  dining  companions  ! 

They  said  they  would  surely  appear. 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window  ; 

Time  that  the  poits  were  here ! 

Alas!  with  watching  and  waiting, 

The  dinner  is  certainly  spoiled  ; 
The  viands  are  cold  in  the  dishes, 

The   roast   and  the   baked    and  the 

boiled. 
Perhaps  we  were  over-punctilious ; 

Our  feast  is  a  failure,  I  fear. 
Hans,  come  away  from  the  window  ; 

Never  a  one  will  be  here  ! 


FOOLS  INCORRIGIBLE. 

FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF   GOETHE. 


ALL  the  old  sages,  however  indeed 
They  wrangle  and  fight  in  the  bitter- 
est way. 

In  one  thins:,  at  least,  are  fully  agreed  : 
They  wink  at  each  other  and  laugh- 
ingly say, 

For  the  lending  of  fools  it  is  foolish  to 
wait, 


Fools  will  be  fools  as  certain  as  fate. 

Sons  of    Wisdom !    make  'em   your 

tools; 
That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of  fools  ! 


MERLIN,  the  ancient,  long  in  his  shroud, 
Where  1  accosted   him  once   in   my 

youth, 
Unto  my  questioning  answered  aloud. 

Solemnly  speaking  this  notable  truth  : 
For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  foolish  to 

wait, 
Fools  will  be  foots  as  certain  as  fate. 

Sons    of  Wisdom !    make  'em  your 

tools ; 
That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of  fools  ! 


High  on  the  top  of  an  Indian  mound 
I  heard  it  once  in  the  passing  air ; 
And    Egypt's  vaults,  deep   under  the 

ground, 

The  same  old  tale  were  echoing  there  : 
For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  foolish  to 

wait, 
Fools  will  be  fooh  as  certain  as  fate. 

Sons   of   Wisdom!    make  'em  your 

tools, 
That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of  fools  ! 


THE  BEST  OF  HUSBANDS. 

FROM    THE    GERMAN. 

OH  I  have  a  man  as  good  as  can  be, 
No  woman  could  wish  for  a  better  thai* 

he. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  he  may  chance  to  be 

wrong, 
But  his  love  for  me  is  uncommon!/ 

strong. 

He  has  one  little  fault  that  makes  me- 

fret, 
He   has  ever  less   money,  hy  far,  than 

debt; 

Moreover,  he  thrashes  me  now  and  then.;: 
But,  excepting  that,  he 's   the  best  ol 

men! 

I  own  he  is  dreadfully  given  to  drink. 
Besides,  he  is  rather  too  fond,  I  think, 
Of  playing  at  cards  and  dice  ;  but  the»t 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men  1 


78 


THE  EDITOR'S  CRIME. 


He  loves  to  chat  with  the  girls,  I 
know 

(Tis  the  way  with  men,  they  are  al- 
ways so), 

But  what  care  I  for  his  flirting,  when, 

Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men  ? 

When  soaked  with  rum,  he  is  hardly  po- 
lite, 

But  knocks  the  crockery  left  and  right, 

And  pulls  my  hair,  and  growls  again ; 

But,  excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of 
men  ! 

I  can't  but  say  I  think  he  is  rash 

To  pawn   my  pewter,   and  spend  the 

cash, 
But  I  haven't  the  heart  to  scold  him, 

when. 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of  men  ! 

What  joy  to  think  he  's  all  my  own  ! 
The   best  of  husbands  that  ever  was 

known ; 

As  good,  indeed,  as  a  man  can  be ; 
And  who  could  wish  for  a  better  than 

he? 


ADVICE  TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND, 

WHO   THINKS    HE    SHOULD  LIKE   TO   BE 
A   LAWYER. 

No,  no,  my  boy  !  let  others  sweat 

And  wrangle  in  the  courts  ; 
Their  Plms  are  most unpleasing  things; 

You  cannot  trust  Reports  ! 

Although  the  law  of  literature 

Alav  your  attention  draw, 
I'm  verv  sure  you  would  n't  like 

The  Literature  of  Law  ! 

Jus'iiiiim'*  Norpls  don't  compare 
With  those  of  Walter  Scott ; 

T»M>  'v  very  little  sentiment, 
And  deuce  a  bit  of  plot ! 

When  Coke  on  Littleton  came  down, 
He  f"erwd  him  right ;  but  who 

Won  (I  Hay  it  were  a  civil  thing 
To  set  them  Iwth  on  you  ? 

In  Black-stone  there  is  much,  I  own, 
Well  worthy  of  regard; 


But  then,  my  boy,  like  other  stones, 
You  '11  find  him  precious  hard  ! 

Sir  WiWam  Jones  is  very  well, 

As  every  scholar  knows ; 
But  read,  my  lad,  his  poetry, 

And  never  mind  his  prose. 

Though   Angell  tempt  you,   heed  hint 
not; 

For  Satan,  to  his  shame, 
Full  oft,  to  further  wicked  ends, 

Employs  a  seraph's  name ! 

Though  Aiken  may  be  very  wise, 

Pray  what  is  that  to  you  ? 
His  re'ader  will  be  apt  to  find 

That  he  is  achin'  too  ! 

There  's  Story  now,  the  lawyers  say, 

Is  very  fine  indeed  ; 
I  only  know  he  's  not  the  kind 

Young  fellows  like  to  read  ! 

And  as  for  Cruise,  though  much  ad- 
mired, 

You  'd  better  let  him  he, 
And  use,  instead,  the  milder  sort 

That  people  take  at  sea  ! 

No,  no,  my  boy  !  let  others  sweat 

And  wrangle  in  the  courts  ; 
There  's  nothing  pleasing  in  a  Plea; 

You  cannot  trust  Reports  ! 

Although  the  law  of  literature 

May  your  attention  draw, 
I  'in  very  sure  you  would  n't  like 

The  Literature  of  Law ! 


THE  EDITOR'S  CRIME. 

WITH  a  gloomy  air, 

And  a  dreamy  stare, 
An  Editor  sits  in  his  sanctum-chair, 
Musing  like  one  in  trouble  or  doubt ; 
And  what  do  you  think  he  is  thinking 
about  ? " 

"  I  'm  sorely  afraid 

This  wearisome  trade 
Will  waste    me    away   to   the  veriest 

shade  ; 
And  force  me,  perhaps,  —  but  that  can 

not  be  — 
A  murder  's  a  horrible  crime  ! "  said  he. 


THE  EDITOR'S  CRIME. 


79 


"  I  never  shirk 

Kditorial  work, 
Nor  mind   the   libel   that  in   it   may 

lurk  ; 

Miscellaneous  matter  is  easy  to  choose  ; 
But  the  News  !  —  the  News  !  —  they  uili 

have  News  ! 

"  A  leader  to  write 

Or  a  tale  to  indite, 

Is  easy  as  lying  —  that  is  n't  the  'bite  '  ; 
All  wholesome   reading  the  public  re- 

fuse ; 
'T  is  '  News  !  '—  '  News  !  '—  '  NEWS  !  '  — 

they  will  have  News  ! 

"  That  's  nor  the  worst,     ' 

My  paper  is  curs'd, 
Unless  it  is  crammed,  till  it  's  ready  to 

burst, 

With  doings  at  which  humanity  quails,  — 
Uapes,  Hiots,  and  Murders,  with  all  the 

details  ! 

"  A  bloodless  row, 

Or  a  five-legged  cow, 
Is  quite  too  tame  for  an  item  now  ; 
'  News-,'  —  'News,'  —  '  NEWS  !  '  —  is  still 

the  song, 
And  then  they  will  have  it  so  horribly 


en  tey 
stron    ! 


"  'T  was  but  t'  other  day 

I  heard  a  man  say, 
He  wa'n't  to  be  done  in  so  shabby  a 

way,  — 
For,  of  all  the  crimes  my  paper  could 

boast, 
The  worsr,  for  a  month,  was  a  '  MUR- 

DER !  —  almost.' 

"Ah!  malhoureitx! 

'T  is  true  !  —  't  is  true  ! 
But   what   the   deuce    can    an    Editor 

do? 
If  crimes  won't  happen,  they  don't  sup- 

pose 
I'm  going  to  make  'cm?  —  (Ha!  ha! 

—  who  knows  ?) 

"I  will  —  I  won't  — 

I  dare  —  I  don't  !  — 
I    tremble    to    think    I    am    thinking 

upon  't  !  " 
The  blackest  of  frowns  is  clouding  his 

brow,  — 
Oh,    what    is    the    Editor    muttering 

now? 


On  the  following  day, 
In  a  flaming  wav, 
The  Pepperville  Post  was  "shocked  to 

say, 
Our  slumbering  city  was  roused  last 

night 

By  a  startling  sound,  and  a  horrible 
sight ! 

"  DIABOLICAL  CRIME  ! 

Last  night,  —  sometime, — 
Not  far  from  the  stroke  of  the  midnight 

chime, 
By  some  person  unknown,  with  a  pistol 

or  gun, 
A  most  unnatural  MURDER  WAS  DONE 

"  On  Jonathan  Brown  J  — 

While  walking  down 
The   principal  street  of    our  beautiful 

town,  — 

A  citizen  held  in  the  highest  regard  ; 
And  the  Mayor  should  offer  a  handsome 

reward 

"  For  the  infamous  wretch, 

That  the  rascal  may  stretch 
The  best  bit  of  rope  in  the  hands  of  Jack 

Ketch ! 
Post  scripium.    A  chap  has  been  lurking 

about 
Whom   nobody  knows, — the  assassin, 

no  doubt. 

"  STILL  LATER  !    'T is  said 

That  the  murderous  lead 
Had   a  conical  shape,  and  went  quite 
through  the  head: 

our    wide-awake   journal    we 
don't  wish  to  boast, 
But  no  Pepperville  print  has  the  news, 
but  the  POST  ! " 

I  grieve  to  tell 
Suspicion  fell 
On  the  man  who  had  told  the  story  so 

well! 

Namely,  the  Editor !  —  none  but  he 
Knew  aught  of  the  case,  —  who  else 
could  it  be  ? 

On  looking  around, 
A  bullet  was  found 
(Of  a  conical  shape)  not  far  from  the 

ground 
Whereon  it  was  known  the  murder  was 

done,  — 
A  bullet  that  fitted  the  Editor's  gun  ! 


PADDYS  ODE  TO   THE  PRINCE. 


'T  is  sad  to  relate 
How  the  merciless  State 
Doomed  him  to  suffer  a  murderer's  fate; 
And  how  ou  the  gallows  the  wicked  Ed- 
itor 

Died,  —  lamented    by    many    a    cred- 
itor! 

But  I  'm  glad  to  say 

It  was  told,  that  day, 
Such  things  are  out  of  the  usual  way, 
And,  to  the  honor  of  all  the  corps, 
Never  was  Editor  hanged  before  ! 

FIRST    MORAL. 

Don't  edit  a  journal ! 
(That  is,  a  diurnal,) 

The  labors  and  dangers  are  really  infer- 
nal ; 
And  will  drive  you,  at  last,  to  some  folly 

or  other ; 

Perhaps  to  the  fate  of  vour  Pepperville 
brother ! 

SECOND   MORAL. 

If  yon  choose  to  regard 
Such  advice  as  too  hard, 
And  will,  edit  a  Daily,  in  spite  of  the 

bard, 
Go  to  Babylon,  — where,  in  the  dullest 

of  times, 

You  won't  have  occasion  to  do  your  own 
"  Crimes ! " 

THIRD   MORAL. 

If  you  must  have  a  bite 
At  eleven  at  night, 

Don't  eat  lobster-salad,  but  take  some- 
thing light ; 

Or,  —  cre.de  experto,  —  you  'd  better  be- 
ware 
Of  taking  a  nap  in  your  sanctum  chair  ! 


PADDY'S  ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE. 

O  MIGHTY  Prince ! 
It 's  no  offense, 

Your  worship,  that  I  mane  ye, 
While  I  confiss 
'T  was  ra-al  bliss, 

A  moment  to  have  sane  ye  1 


That  you  should  see 
The  likes  o'  me, 

The  while  I  stud  adjacent, 
I  don't  suppose, 
Although  me  clo'es 

Was  mighty  clane  and  dacent. 

Av  coorse,  ye  know 
'T  was  long  ago, 

I  looked  at  Jukes  and  such  men, 
And  longer  since, 
An  Enylish  Prince 

Begotten  by  a  Dutchman! 

But  bv  me  troth, 
And  Bible-oath ! 

Wid  all  me  Irish  shyness, 
I  Ve  p.issed  the  word 
Wid  many  a  lord, 

Much  taller  than  your  Highness! 

Ah!  well,  — bedad, 
No  doubt  ye  had, 

In  token  of  allagiance, 
As  good  a  cup 
As  ye  could  sup 

Among  thim  black  Canajans ; 

But  wha'  d  've  think 
Of  Christian  dhriuk, 

Now  tell  me  that,  me  tulip! 
When  through  a  sthraw 
Your  Highness  saw,* 

The  flavor  of  a  julep  f 

Thim  haythen  chaps, 
The  nayger  ./a/>s, 

Wid  all  their  curst  expinses, 
Just  tuk  their  fill, 
And  left  a  bill 

At  which  the  paple  winces ; 

But  thin,  no  doubt, 
Ye  '11  ride  about 

Wid  BOOLE  and  all  the  Aldermen  • 
They  've  little  sinse, 
But.  for  expinse. 

There  's  not  a  set  of  boulder  men  ! 

FERNANDY  WHD 
Has  ducent  blood, 

And  illiirant  morality; 
And  ye  may  swear 
Our  mighty  Mavor 

Will  show  his"  horsepitality ! 


*  The  faculty  of  seeir 
peculiarly  Hibernian. 


;  a  flavor  is,  of  course 


THE  LOVER'S   VISION. 


81 


The  soldiers  all 
Are  at  his  call, 

Wid  Captains  to  parade  'em  ; 
And  at  the  laste, 
Ye  '11  get  a  tuste 

Of  ditnmecratic  fraydem. 

But  plase  to  note, 
Ye  're  not  to  vote,  — 

A  privilege,  by  Jabera! 
Ye  could  n't  hope, 
Were  ye  the  Pope, 

Until  ye  've  got  the  papers  ! 


Well  mighty  Prince, 
Accept  these  hints ; 

Most  frayly  I  indite  'em  ; 
'T  is  luck,  indade, 
If  ye  can  rade 

As  aisy  as  I  write  'em  ! 

And  when  the  throne 
Is  all  ye'r  own 

At  which  ye  're  daily  steering 
Remimber  what 
Some  kings  forgot,  — 

Remimber  poor  ould  Erin. 


LOYE   POEMS. 


WOULD  N'T   YOU   LIKE    TO 
KNOW? 

A   MADRIGAL. 


I  KXCW  a  girl  with  teeth  of  pearl, 
And  shoulders  white  as  snow; 

She  lives,  — ah!  well, 

I  must  not  tell,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


Her  sunny  hair  is  wondrous  fair, 
And  wavy  in  its  flow ; 

Who  made  it  less 

One  little  tress,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


Her  eyes  are  blue  (celestial  hue  !) 
And  dazzling  in  their  glow  ; 
On  whom  they  beam 
With  melting  gleam, — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 

IV. 

Her  lips  are  red  and  finely  wed, 
Like  roses  ere  they  blow; 

What  lover  sips 

Those  dewy  lips, — 
Would  u't  you  like  to  know  1 


Her  fingers  are  like  lilies  fair 
When  lilies  fairest  grow; 


Whose  hand  they  press 
With  fond  caress,— 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


Her  foot  is  small,  and  has  a  fall 
Like  snowflakes  on  the  snow  ; 
And  where  it  goes 
Beneath  the  rose,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


She  has  a  name,  the  sweetest  name 
That  language  can  bestow. 

'T  would  break  the  spell 

If  I  should  fell,— 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know  ? 


THE  LOVER'S  VISION. 


IN  my  watching  or  my  dreaming, 
Came  to  me  a  blessed  vision  ; 

Whether  real  or  but  seeming, 
Boots  me  not  to  make  decision  : 
This  I  know  —  't  was  all  elysian. 


By  me  sat  a  maiden  fairer 

Than  the  Oda's  king  possesses  ; 

But  I  wrong  her  to  compare  her. 
Happy,  happy  whom  she  blesses 
With  her  kisses  and  caresses  1 


82 


TO  MY  LO  VE. 


Golden  hair,  like  sunlight  streaming 
On  the  marble  of  her  shoulder, 

That  with  soft  and  snowy  gleaming 
Witched  the  eye  of  the  beholder, 
Dazed  me,  crazed  me  to  enfold  her ! 


Heart  to  heart  we  sat  together ; 
(Ah,  to  feel  her  bosom's  beating !) 

Hand  in  hand  in  loving  tether, 
Lip  with  lip  in  rapture  meeting, 
Parting  but  for  closer  greeting. 


Oft  and  oft  I  would  be  dreaming, 
Could  I  bring  that  happy  vision  ! 

Was  it  real,  or  but  seeming  1 
Boots  me  not  to  make  decision  : 
This  I  know  —  't  was  all  elysian. 


THE   OATH. 

"  DON'T  forget  me  ! "  sighing  sadly, 
So  my  darling  bade  farewell, 

Haply  deeming  I  would  gladly 
Disenchant  me  of  her  spell 

Ah,  the  siren!  when  did  Beauty 
Ask  in  vain  Love's  simple  debt? 

Or  whene'er  did  languid  Duty 

Heed  the  wiirning,  "Don't  forget"? 

By  her  eyes  where  love  reposes, 
By  her  wealth  of  golden  hair, 

By  lV>r  cheek's  unfathered  roses, 
By  her  neck  divinely  fair, 

By  her  bosom,  throne  of  blisses, 
Hiding  from  the  wanton  light, 

Pale  \vitli  envy  at  the  kisses 
That  her  bolder  lips  invite ; 

By  the  hours  so  sweetly  squandered 

In  the  summer  afternoons  ; 
By  the  orchard  where  we  wandered 

In  the  sheen  of  harvest  moons ; 

By  the  poets,  new  and  olden. 

Who  in  pity  lent  us  speech 
JTor  the  fancies,  rare  and  golden, 

That  our  words  could  never  reach,  — 

By  all  th'-se  my  oath  is  given  : 
Though  my  soul  remember  not 


Earthly  fame  or  hope  of  heaven, 
She  shall  never  be  forgot ! 


UNREST. 

ONE  o'clock !  and  still  I  ponder 

On  the  joys  of  yesterday  ; 
Never  lover  weaker,  fonder, 

Sighed  the  weary  hours  away. 

Ill-content  with  saying,  singing, 
All  its  worship  o'er  and  o'er ; 

Still  the  heart  would  fain  be  clinging^ 
Hound  its  idol,  evermore  ! 

Half  in  pleasure,  half  in  sorrow, 
Thinking  o'er  each  fervent  kiss, 

Still  I  vainly  strive  to  borrow 
From  the  "Past  its  buried  bliss. 

Now  I  hear  her  fondly  sighing, 

As  when  late  we  sat  alone, 
While  the  dancer's  feet  were  flying,  — 

Ah  !  the  sigh  is  but  my  own  ! 

"  Thus  my  darling  I  would  smother!" 

In  my  dreaming  oft  I  sav. 
Fooluh  lips,  that  kiss  each  other! 

Hers,  alas !  are  far  away. 

On  my  cheek  I  feel  the  billow 
Of  her  glowing  bosom  beat, — 

Ah  !  't  is  but  the  pulseless  pillow ! 
Shall  I  curse  or  bless  the  cheat? 

Dreaming,  waking,  I  am  weary. 

Would  that  morning  might  appear! 
Oh,  't  is  dreary,  very  dreary, 

Thus  to  love,  and"  not  be  near ! 


TO   MY  LOVE. 

Da  mi  basia."  —  CATULLUS. 


Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low; 

Malice  has  ever  a  vigilant  ear  ; 

What  if  Malice  were  lurking  near? 

Kiss  me,  dear ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 


Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low, 
Envy  too  has  a  watchful  ear ; 


DARLING  TELL  ME  YES. 


83 


What  if  Envy  should  chance  to  hear  ? 

Kiss  me,"  dear  ! 
Kiss  me  softly  and  spe  ik  to  me  low. 


Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low  ; 
Trust  me,  darling,  the  time  is  near 
When  we  may  love  with  never  a  fear; 
Kiss  me,  dear  ! 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low. 


TO  LESBIA. 


1  On  s'embrasse  a  chaque  instant, 
Puis  encore  !  "  VICTOR  Hooo. 


GIVE  me  kisses !    Do  not  stay, 
Counting  in  that  careful  wav. 
All  the  coins  your  lips  can  print 
Never  will  exhaust  the  mint. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  — and  again  ! 


Give  me  kisses !     Do  not  stop, 
Measuring  uectar  by  the  drop. 
Though  to  millions  thev  amount, 
They  will  never  drain  the  fount. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  ! 


Give  me  kisses !     All  is  waste 
Save  the  Inxurv  we  taste; 
Ami  for  kissing,  —  kisses  live 
Only  when  we  take  or  give. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again ! 

IV. 

Give  me  kisses !     Though  their  worth 
Far  exceeds  the  gems  of  earth, 
Never  pearls  so  rich  and  pure 
Cost  so  little,  I  am  sure. 

Kiss  rne,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  ! 


Give  me  kisses !    Nay,  't  is  true 
I  am  just  as  rich  as  you  ; 
And  for  every  kiss  I  owe, 
I  can  pay  you  back,  you  know 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again  ! 


MY   SAXON  BLONDE. 

THEY  say  the  dark -eyed  maids  of  Spain 

Are  passionate  and  fond  ; 
But  eyes  of  blue  are  tender  and  true,  — 

Give  me  my  Saxon  blonde  ! 

An  arch  coquette  is  the  bright  brunette, 

Blithe  and  merry  and  gay  ; 
Her  love  may  last  till  the  Summer   is 
past, 

But  my  blonde  's  forever  and  aye ! 

If  bards  of  old  the  truth  have  told, 
The  Sirens  have  raven  hair ; 

But  o'er  the  earth,  since  art  had  birth, 
They  paiut  the  Angels  fair. 

Ah !  well,  maybe,  the  truth  to  see, 

A  lover  is  over  fond  ; 
And  I  can't  deny  —  nor  will  I  try  — 

My  love  is  a  golden  blonde  ! 


DARLING,  TELL   ME   YES. 


A  SONG. 


ONE  little  moment  more,  Maud ; 

One  little  whisper  more  ; 
I  have  a  word  to  speak,  Maud, 

I  never  breathed  before. 
Whnt  can  it  be  but  love,  Maud? 

And  do  I  rightly  guess 
'Tis  pleasant  to  your  ear,  Maud? 

O  darling !  tell  me  yes  ! 


The  burden  of  my  heart,  Maud, 

There  's  little  need  to  tell ; 
There  's  little  need  to  say,  Maud, 

I  've  loved  you  long  and  well. 
There  's  language  in  a  sigh,  Maud, 

One's  meaning  to  express; 
And  yours  —  was  it  for  me,  Maud  ? 

O  darling !  tell  me  yes  I 


My  eyes  have  told  my  love,  Maud  ; 

And  on  my  burning  cheek 
You  've  read  the  tender  thought,  Maud, 

My  lips  refused  to  speak. 
I  gave  you  all  my  heart,  Maud, 

'T  is  needless  to  confess; 


84 


TIME  AND  LOVE. 


And  did  yon  give  me  yours,  Maud  ? 
O  darling !  tell  me  yes  ! 


'T  is  sad  to  starve  a  love,  Maud, 

So  worshipful  and  true ; 
I  know  a  little  cot,  Maud, 

Quite  lar£e  enough  for  two ; 
And  you  will  be  my  wife,  Maud  ? 

So  may  you  ever  bless, 
.    Through  all  your  sunny  life,  Maud, 

The  day  you  answered  yes  ! 


TIME  AND  LOVE. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

OLD  Time  and  young  Love,  on  a  morn- 
ing in  May, 
Chanced  to  meet  by  a  river  in  halcyon 

weather, 
And,  agreeing  for  once  ('t  is  a  fable, 

yon  '11  say), 

In  the  same  little  boat  made  a  voyage 
together. 

Strong,    steady,     and     patient,    Time 

pulled  at  his  oar, 
And  swift  o'er  the  water  the  voyagers 

g°; 

But  Love,  who  was  thinking  of  Pleas- 
ure on  shore, 

Complained    that    his  boatman  was 
wretchedly  slow. 

But  Time,  the  old  sailor,  expert  at  his 

trade, 

And  knowing  the   leagues  that  re- 
mained to  be  done, 
Content  with  the  regular  speed  that  he 

made, 

Tug-red  away  at  his  oar  and  kept 
steadily  on. 

Love,  always  impatient  of  doubt  or  de- 
lay, 

Now  sighed  for  the  aid  of  the  favor- 
ing gales, 
And  scolded  at  Time,  in  the  sauciest 

way, 

For  not  having  furnished  the  shallop 
with  sails.* 


But  Time,  as  serene  as  a  calendar  saint 
(Whatever  the  gray  beard  was  think- 
ing upon), 
All  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  younker's 

complaint, 

Tugged  away   at  his   oar   and  kept 
steadily  on. 

Love,  vexed  at  the  heart,  only  clamored 

the  more, 
And  cried,  "  By  the  gods !  in  what 

country  or  clime 

Was  ever  a  lubber  who  handled  an  oar 
In  so  lazv  a  fashion  as  old  Father 
Time''?  " 


But  Time  only  smiled  in  a  cynical  way 
is  of  ten 'the 
derlvDon), 


('T  is  often 'the   mode  with  your  el 


As  one  who  knows  more  than  he  cares 

to  display, 
And  still  at  his  oar  pulled  steadily  on. 

Grown  calmer  at  last,   the   exuberant 

boy 
Enlivens  the  minutes  with  snatches 

of  rhyme ; 

The  voyage,  at  length,  he  begins  to  en- 
joy, 

And  soon  has  forgotten  the  presence 
of  Time ! 

But  Time,  the  severe,  egotistical  elf, 
Since  the   day   that    his   travels    he 

entered  upon, 

Has  ne'er  for  a  moment  forgotten  him- 
self, 

But  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps  steadily 
on. 

Awaking  once  more,  Love  sees  with  a 

sigh 

That  the  Kiver  of  Life  will  be  pres- 
ently passed, 
And  now  he  breaks  forth  with  a  piteous 

cry, 

"O    Time,    gentle    Time!    you  are 
rowing  too  fast !  " 

But  Time,  well  knowing  that  Love  will 

be  dead, 
Dead,  —  dead  !  in  the  boat !  —  ere  the 

voyage  is  done, 
Only  gives  him  an  ominous  shake  of  the 

head, 

While  he  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps 
steadily  on ! 


THE   CHAPEL   OF  TWO  SAINTS. 


85 


LOVE'S  CALENDAR. 

TO    AN    ABSENT  WIFE. 

0   SINCE  't  is  decreed  by  the  envious 

Fates, 

All  deaf  to  the  clamoring  heart, 
That  the  truest  and  fondest  of  conjugal 

mates 
Shall  often  be  sighing  apart; 

Since  the  Days  of  our  absence  are  many 

and  .-ad. 
And   the  Hours  of  our  meeting  are 

few, 
Ah !   what   in  a    case    so    exceedingly 

bad, 
Can  the  deepest  philosophy  do  ? 

Pray  what  can  we  do,  —  unfortunate 

elves, 

Unconscious  of  folly  or  crime, — 
But  make  a  new  Calendar  up  for  our- 
selves, 
For  the  better  appraisal  of  time  ? 

And  the  Hours  alone  shall  the  Calendar 

fill 
(While  Blanks  show  their    distance 

apart), 
Just  sufficiently  near  to   keep  off  the 

chill 
That  else  might  be  freezing  the  heart ; 

And  ench  Hour  shall  be  such  a  glorious 

hour, 

Its  moments  so  precious  and  dear, 
That  in  breadth,  and  in  depth,  and  in 

bliss-givinir  power, 
It  may  fairly  be  reckoned  a  year! 


THE  LAWYER'S  VALENTINE. 

I  'M  notified,  fair  neighbor  mine, 

By  one  of  our  profession. 
That  this  —  the  Term  of  Valentine  — 

Is  Cupid's  Special  Session. 

Permit  me.  therefore,  to  report 

Myself,  on  this  occasion, 
Quite  ready  to  proceed  to  Court, 

And  File  my  Declaration. 

I  've  an  Attachment  for  you,  too ; 
A  legal  and  a  strong  one ; 


Oh,  yield  unto  the  Process,  do; 
Nor  let  it  be  a  long  one  ! 

No  scowling  bailiff  lurks  behind ; 

He  'd  be  a  precious  noddy, 
Who,  failing  to  Arrest  the  mind, 

Should  go  and  Take  the  Body ! 

For   though  a  form  like  yours   might 
throw 

A  sculptor  in  distraction  ; 
I  could  n't  serve  a  Capias,  —  no, 

I  'd  scorn  so  base  an  action  ! 

Oh,  do  not  tell  me  of  vour  youth, 

And  turn  away  demurely; 
For  though  you  're  very  voung,  in  truth, 

You  're  not  an  Infant  surely ! 

The  Case  is  everything  to  me ; 

My  heart  is  love's  own  tissue  ; 
Don't  plead  a  Dilatory  Plea ; 

Let 's  have  the  General  Issue ! 

Or,  since  you've  really  no  Defense, 
Why  not,  this  present  Session, 

Omitting  all  absurd  pretense, 
Give  judgment  by  Confession? 

So  shall  you  be  my  lawful  wife ; 

And  I  —your  faithful  lover  — 
Be  Tenant  of  your  heart  for  Life, 

With  no  Remainder  over ! 


A  REASONABLE  PETITION. 

You  say,  dearest  girl,  you  esteem  me, 

And  hint  of  respectful  regard, 
And  I  Jm  certain  it  would  n't  beseem  me, 

Such  an  excellent  »ift  to  discard. 
But  even  the  Graces,  you  'II  own, 

Would  lose  half  their  beauty  apart ; 
And  Ksteem,  when  sh*.  stands"  all  alone. 

Looks  most  unbecomingly  tart.   < 
So  grant  me,  dear  girl,  this  petition  :  — 

If   Esteem   e'er  again    should    come 

hither, 
Just  to  keep  her  in  cheerful  condition, 

Let  Love  come  in  company  with  her ! 


THE  CHAPEL  OF  TWO  SAINTS 

IN  a  famous  Tuscan  city 
Stands  a  chapel  snug  and  small ; 


DRINKING  SONG. 


Seme  old  penitent's  oblation, 
With  a  double  dedication, 
To  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul. 

To  a  soul  so  stoutlv  guarded 

What  of  evil  coul.l  befall  ? 
When  was  ever  plan  completer 
Without  robbery  of  Peter, 

Paying  thus  his  due  to  Paul? 

There  it  was  I  saw  a  lady, 

Very  round  and  ripe  and  tall; 
Surely  never  face  was  sweeter 
Than  she  turned  upon  St.  Peter, 
After  bowing  10  St.  Paul. 

Lonir  and  ardently  I  worshiped,  — 
Not  the  Saints,"  nor  yet  their  Master, 

But  my  feminine  ideal  ; 

Afea  cnlf>u !  she  was  real 
Flesh  and  blood,  and  they  were  plas- 
ter! 

Good  St.  Anthony  was  tempted, 

Though  a  frigid  old  divine 
(Showing  saints  are  only  human), 
But  he  never  saw  a  woman 

Half  so  beautiful  as  mine  ! 

Pardon  then  my  had  behavior 

(Thus  upon  the  twain  I  call), 
As  if  you  were  in  my  case, 
And  were  asking  special  grace 
Of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul ! 


THE   LITTLE    MAID    AND    THE 
LAWYER. 


THEY  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer 

Brown, 
^'m  the  cleverest  man  in  all  the  town. 

Heigh-ho !  says  she, 

What 's  that  to  me  ? 
But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer 

Brown, 
You  "re  the  prettiest  girl  in  all  the  town. 

Says  she,  If  they  do, 

What 's  that  to  vou  ? 


They   say,  little  maid,  quoth   Lawyer 

Brown, 
I  'in  the  richest  man  in  all  the  town. 


Heigh-ho !  says  she, 

What 's  that  to  me? 
But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer 

Brown, 
You  ought  to  be  dressed  in  a  finer  gown. 

Says  she,  If  thev  do, 

What 's  that  to  "you  ? 


They   say,  little    maid,  quoth   Lawyer 

Brown, 

That   Johnny   Hodge   is   an   awkward 
clown. 

Heigh-ho!  says  she, 

What 's  that  to  me  ? 
But  they  say,  little  maid,  the  lawyer  said, 
That  you  and  Johnny  are  going  to  wed 

Savs  she,  If  we  do, 

What 's  that  to  you  ? 


DRINKING  SONG. 

BY    A    TETOTALER. 

"  Ex  ipso  fonte  bibi."  —  OVID. 

I  'VE  been  drinking,  I  've  been  drink- 
ing, 

To  intoxication's  edge  ; 
Do  not  chide  me ;  for  the  tipple 

Wasn't  mentioned  in  the  pledge. 

Nay,  believe  me,  —  't  was  not  Brandy 
Wrought  the  roses  that  you  see ; 

One  may  get  a  finer  crimson 
From  a  purer  eau-de-vie. 

No,  indeed  ;  it  was  not  Claret 

(That  were  something  overweak) ; 

There  's  a  vastly  hetter  vintage 
For  the  painting  of  a  cheek. 

Not  Angelica,  —  the  honey 
By  Loyola's  children  pressed 

From  the  Andalusian  clusters 
Ripened  in  the  Golden  West; 

Not  Madeira,  Hock,  nor  Sherry; 

No,  indeed,  't  is  none  of  these 
Makes  me  giddy  in  the  forehead, 

Makes  me  tremble  in  the  knees. 

No;  't  is  not  the  Gallic  "  Widow" 
That  has  turned  my  foolish  brain, 

Nor  the  wine  of  any  vineyard 
Found  in  Germany  or  Spain. 


'  Of  a  Summer's  night, 
By  your  own  sweet  light."     Page  87. 


THE  MAIDEN  TO   THE  MOON. 


87 


Nay  —  I  own  it !  —  't  is  the  uectar 
That  a  favored  lover  sips 

(All  unheeding  of  the  danger  !> 
From  a  maiden's  pulpy  lips ! 

This  it  is  that  I  've  been  drinking 

To  intoxication's  edge  • 
Till  I  marvel  that  the  tipple 

Is  n't  mentioned  in  the  pledge  ! 


For  the  taste  is  so  enchanting 

'T  is  impossible  to  see, 
Should  it  grow  into  a  habit, 

What  the  consequence  may  be. 

Well,  I  '11  heed  the  sage's  lesson, 
Pleasant,  though  it  prove  in  vain, 

And  by  diiukiug  very  largely 
Try  to  sober  me  again ! 


EGO  ET  ECHO. 

A    FANTASY. 


I  ASKED  of  Echo,  t'  other  day 

(Whose   words  are    few    and   often 
fanny), 

What  to  a  novice  she  could  say 

Of  courtship,  love,  and  matrimony? 
Quoth    Echo,    plainly  :      "  Matter-o'- 
money  ! 

Whom  should  I  marry  1  should  it  be 
A  dashing  damsel,  gay  and  pert,  — 

A  pattern  of  inconsistency ; 
Or  selfish,  mercenary  flirt  ? 
Quoth  Echo,  sharply  :  "  Nary  flirt!  " 


What  if.  aweary  of  the  strife 

That  long   has    lured    the  dear  de- 
ceiver. 
She  promised  to  amend  her  life, 

Ami  sin  no  more,  can  I  believe  her? 

Quoth  echo,  very  promptly:  "Leave 


But-if  some  maiden  with  a  heart, 
On  me  should  venture  to  bestow  it  : 

Pray,  should  I  net  the  wiser  part 
To  take  ihe  treasure,  or  forego  it? 
Quoth    Echo,    with    decision  :    "  Go 
it !  " 


Suppose  a  billet-doux  (in  rhyme), 
As  warm  as  if  Catullus  penned  it, 

Declare  her  beauty  so  sublime 

That  Cytherea's  can't  transcend  it, — 
Quoth  "echo,    very   clearly  :    "  Send 
it !  " 


But  what  if,  seemingly  nfraid 

To  bind  her  fate  in  Hymen's  fetter, 

She  vow  she  means  to  die  a  maid,  — 
In  answer  to  my  loving  letter  ? 
Quoth    Echo,  "rather    coolly :    "  Let 
her  !  " 


What  if,  in  spite  of  her  disdain, 
I  find  my  heart  entwined  about 

With  Cupid's  dear  delicious  chain, 
So  closely  that  I  can't  get  out  ? 
Quoth    Echo,    laughingly  :    "  Get 
out !  " 


But  if  some  maid  with  beauty  blest, 
As  pure  and  fair  as  Heaven  can  make 
her, 

Will  share  my  labor  and  my  rest, 
Till  envious  Death  shall  overtake  her7 
Quoth  Echo  (sottovoce)  :  "  Take  her!" 


THE  MAIDEN  TO  THE  MOON.* 

O  MOON  !  did  you  see 
My  lover  and  me 
In  the   valley   beneath   the   sycamcre- 

tree? 

Whatever  befell, 
O  Moon  !  don't  tell; 
'T  was  nothing  amiss,  you  know  very 
well. 

O  Moon  !  you  know, 

A  long  time  ago 
You  left  the  sky  and  descended  below, 

Of  a  Summer's  night, 

By  your  own  sweet  light, 
To  meet    vour  Endymion   on   Latmos 
height. 

And  there,  O  Moon  ! 
Yon  gave  him  a  boon, 
You  would  n't,  1  'm  sure,  have  granted 
at  noon; 


88 


A  SUMMER  SCENE. 


'T  was  nothing  amiss, 
Being  only  the  bliss 
Of  giving — and  taking— an  innocent 
kiss! 

Some  churlish  lout. 

Who  was  spying  about, 
Went  off  and  blabbed,  and  so  it  got  out ; 

But  for  all  the  yold 

The  sea  could  hold, 

0  Moon !  /  would  n't  have  gone  and 
told! 

So,  Moon  !  don't  tell, 
Whatever  befell 

My  lover  and  me  in  the  leafy  dell ; 
HH  is  honest  and  true, 
And,  remember,  too, 
We  only  behaved  like  your  lover  and 
you! 

I 


DAISY  DAY. 

A  KEMINISCENCE   OF   TRAVEL. 

IT  was  in  an  Irish  city, 

In  the  pleasan  t  month  of  May, 
That  I  met  the  clever,  pretty, 

Lively,  lovely  Daisy  Day" 
Like  myself,  a  transient  ranger 

From  Columbia's  troubled  shore, 
Could  I  deem  her  quite  a  stranger, 

Though  we  never  met  before  ? 

Love  of  country  — so  despotic 

In  our  precious  native  land  — 
Finds  us  doubly  patriotic, 

Straying  on  a  foreign  strand ; 
Hence ,"  perhaps,  tier  friendly  manner, 

And  my  pulse's  quicker  play, 
When,  beneath  St.  Patrick's  banner, 

I  acco»ted  Daisy  Day. 

Bless  me  !  how  all  eyes  were  centred 

On  her  when  the  parlor  door 
Opened,  and  the  lady  entered 

Like  a  queen  upon  the  floor! 
T  was  as  if,  that  summer  even, 

Some  superlative  perfume, 
Wafted  bv  the  breath  of  heaven, 

Suddenly  had  filled  the  room ! 

Happy  favorite  of  Nature, 

Hebe  in  her  sunny  face, 
Juno  in  her  queenly  stature, 

More  than  Juno  in  her  grace, 


Eyes  befitting  Beauty's  goddess, 
Mouth  to  steal  your  heart  away, 

Bust  that  strained  her  ample  boiiice,— 
Such  was  charming  Daisy  Day. 

Well,  what  then  ?    Ah  !    Holy  Mother 

Pardon  one  pathetic  sigh  ; 
She  's  the  "  partner  "  of  another, 

And  —  I  own  it  —  So  am  I ! 
But  a  poet  owes  to  Beauty 

More  than  common  men  can  pay, 
And  I  've  done  my  simple  duty, 

Singing  thus  of  Dai^y  Day. 


A  SUMMER  SCENE. 

I  SAW  you,  lately,  at  an  hour 

To  lovers  reckoned  dear  ' 
For  tender  try.-ts  ;  and  this  is  what 

I  chanced  to  see  and  hear  : 

You  sat  beneath  the  Summer  moon, 

A  friend  on  either  hand. 
And  one  applauded  your  discourse, 

And  one  —  could  understand. 

You  quoted  gems  of  poesy 
By  might v  masters  wrought ; 

And'  one  remarked  the  pleasant  rhyme, 
And  one,  the  golden  thought. 

Your  smiles  (how  equally  bestowed  !) 

Upon  the  list'ners  fell"; 
And  one  was  fain  to  praise  your  eyes, 

And  one,  to  read  them  well. 

You  jested  in  a  merry  vein, 

And.  conscious,  played  the  child; 

And  one  was  moved  to  brave  retort, 
And  one,  in  silence,  smiled. 

You  spoke  of  angel-life  above 

That  evermore  endures ; 
And  one  looked  up,  with  lifted  hands, 

And  one —  was  kissing  yours  ! 

And    then    you    laughed    the    ringing 
laugh 

That  shows  a  spirit  glad  ; 
And  one,  thereat,  was  very  gay, 

And  one  was  something  sad. 

And  did  you  guess  (nh  !  need  I  ask?) 
While  thus  they  sat  with  you, 

That  one  was  but  a  light  gallant, 
And  one  a  lover  true  ? 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED. 


89 


TO  A  BEAUTIFUL  STRANGER. 

A  GLANCE,  a  smile,  —  I  see  it  yet ! 

A  moment  ere  the  train  was  starting  ; 
How  strange  to  tell !  we  scarcely  met, 
And  yet  I  felt  a  pang  at  parting 

And  you,  (alas !  that  all  the  while 
'T  is  /  alone  who  am  confessing  !) 

What  thought  was  lurking  in  your  smile 
Is  quite  beyond  my  ^tnple  guessing. 

I  only  know  those  beaming  rays 
Awoke  in  me  a  strange  emotion, 

Which,  basking  in  their  warmer  blaze, 
Perhaps  might  kindle  to  devotion. 

Ah  !  many  a  heart  as  stanch  as  this, 
By  smiling  lips  allured  from  Duty, 

Has  sunk  in  Passion's  dark  abyss, — 
"  Wrecked  on  the  coral  reefs"  of  Beau- 
ty ! " 

And  so,  't  is  well  the  train's  swift  flight 
That  bore  away  my  charming  stran- 
ger 
T-jok   her  —  God   bless    her  !  —  out  of 

sight, 
And  me,  as  quickly,  out  of  danger  ! 


HERCULES   SPINNING. 


BOND  slave  to  Omphale, 

The  haughty  Lydian  queen, 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 

The  beauteous  Lydian  queen, 
Lo !   Hercules  is  seen 
Spinning,  spinning  like  a  maid, 
While  aside  his  club  is  laid, 
And  the  hero  boasts  no  more 
All  his  doughty  deeds  of  yore, 
But  with  sad,  submissive  mien 
Spinning,  spinning  still  is  seen, 
Bond  slave  to  Omphale, 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 
The  haughty  Lydian  queen. 


Shame  !  that  for  a  woman's  whir 
He,  so  stout  of  heart  and  limb, 
Must  his  nature  so  abuse 
Thus  his  mighty  arm  to  use,  — 
Not  the  manly  mace  to  whirl, 
But  a  'iny  spindle  twirl, 


Spinning,  spinning  like  a  girl, 

With  a  soft,  submissive  mien, 

Bond  slave  to  Omphale, 

Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 

The  haughty  Lydian  queen. 


Fond  slave  to  Omphale,  — 

Bond  slave  no  more  ; 
Love  has  loosed  whom  Tyranny 

Basely  bound  before ! 
The  distaff  now  is  cast  aside, 
And,  leaning  on  his  club  in  pride, 

Lo  !  Hercules  is  seen 

In  majesty  serene,  — 
A  hero  silting  by  his  bride, 

Fair  Omphale,  his  queen  ! 


Whatever  mortals  crave, 

So  rule  the  gods  above 
That  manly  Strength  is  Beauty's  slave, 

And  Beauty  yields  to  Love. 


HOW  IT   HAPPENED. 

"  AH  !  we  love  each  other  well, 
Better  far  than  words  can  tell," 
Said  my  charmer ;  "  but  in  vain 
Are  my  efforts  to  explain 
How  it  happened.    Tell  me  now, 
Dearest,  of  the  why  and  how  ! 
Since  the  fact  we  cannot  doubt, 
Tell  me  how  it  came  about." 

Well,  my  darling,  I  will  try 
To  explain  the  how  and  why, 
(Speaking  for  myself,  not  you  ; 
That,  of  course,  1  cannot  do.) 

Not  your  brilliant  mind  alone 
Could  have  thus  enthralled  my  own; 
Not  the  charm  of  every  grace 
Beaming  from  your  sunny  face; 
Not  your  voice,"  though  music  be 
Less  melodious  to  me  ; 
Not  your  kisses,  sweeter  far 
Than  the  drops  of  Hybla  are  ; 
None  of  these,  from  each  apart, 
Could  have  so  enchained  my  heart ; 
Nay,  no   e'en  the  wondrous  whole 
Could  have  fixed  my  wayward  soul ;. 
Had  not  love  —  your  love  —  prevailed. 
All  the  rest  had  surely  failed. 

There  !  you  have  the  reason,  d'  ar  ; 
Is  the  explanation  clear  ? 

Ah  !  I  own  it  seems  but  weak ; 
Half  the  why  is  yet  to  set- k  ; 


THE  LOVER'S  CONFESSION. 


Only  this  I  surely  know, 
Never  woman  witched  me  so  ! 
Happy  let  ray  charmer  be, 
Since  her  eyes  in  mine  may  see 
Flashes  of  the  hidden  fire 
(Half  devotion,  half  desire), 
And  her  ears  may  hear  the  sighs 
That  from  yearning  love  arise, 
Whispering,  in  the  fondest  tone, 
"  Take  me !    I  am  all  your  own  !  " 


EXAUDI  ANGELUS. 

HEAR  thou  my  prayer,  O  angel  kind  ! 

Who  brought  my  gladdened  eyes  to 

see 
Him  whom  so  long  I  yearned  to  find, 

And  gave  his  dear  heart  all  to  me ; 
O,  guard  him  well,  that  I  may  prove 
Blest  in  my  lover  and  my  love. 

And  keep  thou  her  whose  fearful  breast 
Still  trembles  for  its  new-found  joy 

(Knowing,  ah  me!  but  little  rest), 
Lest  envious  maids  or  gods  destroy 

This  wondrous  happiness  that  seems 

Too  bright  for  aught  save  angel  dreams. 

O,  bless  us  twain  !  and  kindly  teach  ; 

And  safely  guard  each  hallowed  name 
From  blighting  hint  or  blasting  speech 

To  m;ike  our  cheeks  all  red  for  shame, 
That  blush  not  for  the  love  they  b^ar 
In  thy  pure  presence,  angel  fair. 

And  while,  with  lips  that  closer  cling 
In  dread  to  p;irt,  we  say  "  Farewell !  " 

Keep  thou  this  love  a  holy  thing 
That  in  us  evermore  may  dwell, 

By  circling  hearth  or  sundering  sea, 

Where'er  oar  thankful  hearts  may  be  ! 


CARL  AND   I. 

HE  calls  me  beautiful ;  and  I 
Ask  of  my  glass  the  reason  why  ; 

Alack  for  me ! 

And  yet  though  little  there  I  see, 
I  must  be  beautiful,  I  trow, 
When  such  as  he  can  deem  me  so. 

He  calls  me  brilliant ;  all  in  vain 

I  strive  the  wonder  to  explain ; 

Alack  for  me ! 


And  yet,  whate'er  my  fancy  be, 
Some  spark  of  wit  therein  must  glow 
When  such  as  he  can  think  it  so. 

He  calls  me  noble ;  and  I  turn 
My  soul  within  my  soul  to  learn  ; 

Alack  for  me ! 

I  am  not  proud  of  what  I  see ; 
And    yet    some    goodness    there  must 

grow. 
When  such  as  he  can  find  it  so. 

He  calls  me  lovely  ;  and  I  try 
To  seek  the  specious  reason  why ; 

Alack  for  me ! 

And  yet  though  vain  my  question  be, 
I  must  be  lovely  —  well  I  know  — 
When  such  as  he  can  love  me  so  ! 


DO  I  LOVE  THEE? 


Do  I  love  thee  1.     Ask  the  bee 
If  she  loves  the  flowery  lea 
Where  the  honeysuckle  blows 
And  the  fragrant  clover  grows. 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling !  take  my  answer  so. 

Do  I  love  thee  1    Ask  the  bird 
When  her  matin  song  is  heard, 
If  she  loves  the  sky  so  fair, 
Fleecy  cloud  and  liquid  air. 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling  !  take  my  answer  so. 

Do  I  love  thee  1    Ask  the  flower 
If  she  loves  the  vernal  shower, 
Or  the  kisses  of  the  sun, 
Or  the  dew,  when  day  is  done. 
As  she  an-wers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling  !  take  my  answer  so. 


THE   LOVER'S   CONFESSION. 

"  COME,  name  my  fault ! "  I  said,  "  that  I 
May  mend  it."     So  I  made  reply 
To  Laura,  darling  of  my  heart, 
Whom  long,  in  vain,  by  every  art 
I  tried  to  force  to  franker  speech. 
"  Do  tell  me  plainly,  I  beseech, 
For  my  soul's  sake,  that  while  I  live 
I  may'repent  and  Heaven  forgive  !  " 


CHORUS  OF  THE  DRYADS. 


91 


'  'T  is  tcorldliness ! "  at  last  she  said, 
And,    blushing,    drooped    her    lovely 

head, 

As  if  she  feared  I  might  infer 
She  meant  forgetful  ness  of  her. 
"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  I  answered.    "  Well, 
I  own  the  world's  enchanting  spell ; 
The  fault  is  one  I  cannot  hide  ; 
But  ah  !  't  is  not  for  you  to  chide ; 
S  till,  dearest,  let  me  worldly  be, 
Since  you  are  '  all  the  world '  to  me  ! " 


A  PHILOSOPHICAL   QUERY. 


IF  Virtue  be  measured  by  what  we  re- 

sist, 

When  against  Inclination  we  strive, 
You  and  I  have  been  proved,  we  may 

fairly  insist, 

The  most  virtuous  mortals  alive  ! 
Now  Virtue,  we  know,  is  the  brightest 

of  pearls, 
Bat  as  Pleasure  is  hard  of  evasion, 


Should   we   envy,  or  pity,  the  stoical 

churls 
Who  never  have  known  a  temptation  t 


LIP-SERVICE. 


JULIA  once  and  once  again, 

In  coquettish  fashion, 
Heedless  of  her  lover's  pain, 

Mocked  his  burning  passion ; 
"  Words  of  worship  lightly  fall 

From  a  courtier,  surely ; 
Mere  lip-service,  —  that  is  all !  "^ 

Said  the  maid,  demurely. 

n. 

Then  his  kisses  fell  like  dew 

(Just  where  Love  would  choose  'em) 
On  her  mouth ;  and  through  and  through 

Thrilled  her  glowing  bosom ; 
Till  she  felt  —  nor  uttered  she 

Whisper  of  negation  — 
"  Mere  lip-service  "  still  may  be 

Perfect  adoration ! 


LEISURE-DAY  RHYMES. 


CHORUS  OF  THE  DRYADS. 


FIRST    DRTAD. 


WHO  are  these  who  come  again 
Strolling  in  our  dark  domain  1 


SECOND    DRYAD. 

Lovers,  if  I  guess  aright ; 
And  I  saw  them  yesternight, 
Sitting  bv  yon  chestnut-tree  ; 
And  I  marveled  much  to  see 
All  I  saw ;  and  more  to  hear 
All  that  fell  — 


FIRST   DRTAD. 

Now,  tell  me,  dear, 
What  it  means,  —  that  wondrous  word 


Which  so  oft  I  plainly  heard 
(As,  unseen,  I  watched  above) ; 
Tell  me  truly  what  is  "  love,"  — 
What  of  pleasure  it  may  bring, 
Since  it  seemed  so  sweet  a  thing ; 
What  therein  nmy  lurk  of  pain, 
Since,  anon,  they  sighed  again; 
What  of  shame, "that  with  a  blush 
She,  the  trembler,  whispered,  "Hush  J* 
(As  assailed  with  sudden  fear.) 
"  Darling !  don't  the  Dryads  hear  1  " 

THIRD   DRYAD. 

True  as  truth !    It  chanced  that  I, 
Sleeping  on  a  branch  anigh, 
Heard  it  all ;  for  I  awoke 
When  their  words  the  silence  broke. 
Faith  !  the  lover  answered  well : 
"  Sweet !  the  Dryads  never  tell !  " 


HERE  AND  HEREAFTER. 


FIRST    DRYAD. 


Pan  /     I  own  the  matter  seems 
Queer  as  aught  we  see  in  dreams  ; 
Tell  me  plainly  (older  you  ; 
And  —  it  follows  —  wiser  too !) 
All  about  it ;  I  would  know 
What  it  is  can  witch  them  so! 


THIRD    DRYAD. 

Nay,  —  I  know  not.     All  I  learn 
These  good  eyes  and  ears  discern. 
For  the  rest,  —  beyond  my  ken 
Are  the  ways  of  mortal  men ; 
And  for  love,  —  if  it  contain 
More  of  pleasure  or  of  pain, 
All  mv  wits  have  brought  about 
Only  this,  — that  still  I  doubt ! 

SECOND    DRYAD. 

Strange  the  awful  oaths  I  heard 
Following  many  a  tender  word 
That  from  either  smoothly  slips 
Through  their  seldom-severed  lips, 
In  the  little  pauses  when 
They  were  free  to  speak  again. 
Yet  I  learn  from  such  as  you, 
C1V11  me  plainly,  is  it  true  ?) 
That  whate'er  of  bliss  it  bring, 
Love  is  but  a  slippery  thing  ; 
That,  with  mortal  men  and  maids, 
Kisses  fail  when  beauty  fades ; 
And  this  Love,  with  scarce  a  sigh, 
Dies  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  die  ! 


THIRD   DRYAD. 

Nay,  —  I  know  not.     Well  content 
Wi'th  the  good  the  gods  have  lent 
To  our  higher,  happier  kind, 
Li: tie,  sooth  !  am  I  inclined 
All  the  miseries  to  trace 
That  afflict  the  tinman  race. 
S  ife  amid  our  leafy  bowers, 
Sweetlv  flow  the  rosy  hours, 
While  in  friendship's  calm  estate, 
Free  from  love,  as  free  from  hate, 
H<-re  our  happy  lives  are  passed, 
Clear  of  passion  — 


FOURTH  DRYAD. 

Not  so  fast ! 

J  have  heard  the  tale,  you  see, 
l>f  Pan  and  wantou  Dryope; 


And  hapless  Syrinr,  who,  indeed, 
To  'scape  his  love  became  a  reed 
Most  musical  of  tender  woe. 
Ah !  which  of  us  can  surely  know 
That  she  is  safe  ?     For  me,  I  own 
Some  homage  to  this  god  unknown 
Whose  wondrous  potency  controls 
Both  mortal  and  immortal  souls. 
His  smile  I  crave ;  his  frown  I  fear ; 
So,  be  all  lovers  welcome  here  ! 
May  fragrant  flowers  a  carpet  spread 
Whereon  their  feet  may  softly  tread  ; 
May  every  tall,  majestic  tree, 
To  "guard"  their  tryst,  a  fortress  be  ; 
And  every  nymph  that  views  the  scene 
Hold  in  her  hand  a  leafy  screen 
To  form  a  dense  o'erarrhing  roof 
The  blabbing  moon  to  keep  aloof; 
And  not  a  Dryad  ever  tell 
The  secret  that  she  knows  so  well ! 


HERE  AND  HEREAFTER. 

"  SAY,    what    shall    I    believe  ? "    mj 

neighbor  said 
Late  yesternight,  when  light  discourse 

had  led 
To  graver  themes.     "  For  me,  I  stand 

perplexed, 
While   fierce    polemics   each   upon  his 

text 
Of    Scriptural    foundation    builds    his 

creed, 
And   cries,    'Lo!    here   is   Truth!    the 

Truth ! '  I  need 

Some  surer  way  than  theologians  teach 
In  dogmas  of  the  sects."  I  answered, 

"Each 

Must  do  his  own  believing.  As  for  me, 
My  creed  is  short  as  any  man's  may  be; 
'Tis  written  in  '  The  Sermon  on  the 

Mount,' 

And  in  the  '  Pater- Noster ';  I  account 
The  words  'Our  Father'  (had  we  lost 

the  rest 
Of  that  sweet  prayer,  the  briefest  and 

the  best 

In  all  the  liturgies)  of  higher  worth, 
To  ailing  souls,  than  all  the  creeds  on 

earth. 
A  Father  loves  his  children  —  that   I 

know  — 
And   fain   would    make    them    happy. 

Even  so 
Our  Heavenly  Father  —  as  we  clearlj 

learu 


HERE  AND  HEREAFTER. 


93 


From   his  dear  Word,  and  dimly  may 

discern 
From    liis    fair   Works  —  for  us,  his 

children,  weak 
To  walk  uuhelped,  and  little  prone  to 

seek 
In  all  our  ways  what  best  deserves  his 

smile 

Of  approbation,  careth  all  the  while 
With  love  ineffable.     'T  is  little  more 
Of  his  designs  I  venture  to  exp'ore 
Save  wi'h  the  eve  of  Faith.     With  that 

I  see 
(Aided  hy  Reason's  glasses)  what  may 

bo 
Hereafter,  in  thnt  '  Coming  Kingdom  ' 

when 
The  Kin?  shall  justify  his  ways  with 

men 
On  earth." 

"  And  what,"  my  doubting  friend  in- 
quired, 
"  Shall  be  our  destiny  1 " 

"  No  tongue  inspired 
Hath  plainly   told   us   that.     I   cannot 

tell  — 
It  is  not    given  to  know  —  where  we 

shall  dwell  • 
I  oiilv    know  —  and  humbly  leave  the 

"rest 
To   Wisdom    Infinite  —  that    what    is 

best 
For  each  will  be  his  place;  that  we  shall 

wear 

In  the  Beyond  the  character  we  bear 
In    passing;    with    what    meliorating 

change 
Of  mind  and  soul,  within  the  endless 

ranire 

Of  their  activities,  I  cannot  tell. 
1  know  'Our  Father '  doeth  all  things 

well, 
And  loves  and  changes  not." 

"  Alas  !  we  know 
The    earth     is    rife    with     unavailing 

woe ! " 
My  friend   made  answer.     "  How  can 

such  things  be  1 
The  Father   being   perfect  we    should 

sec 
Uis  government  the  same  "  — 

"  Would  he  not  err,  — 
The   hasty   judge,  — who,  having  seen 

the  stir 
In  the  first  Act  of  some  well-ordered 

play, 
Should    cry,  '  Preposterous ! '    and    go 

away 


And  criticise  the  whole  (four  Acts  un- 

» -en  !) 
As     ill-contrived,     inconsequent,     and 

mean  ! " 

"  Something    germane     to    this,"    my 

daughter  said, 

"  In  an  old  Jewish  ta'e  I  lately  read  : 
To  pious  Bildad,  deeply  mourning  one 
Whom  he  had  deeply  loved,  —  his  only 

son,  — 
Who  of  the  plague  had  died  that  very 

day, 
Came  his  friend   Amos,  saying,   'Tell 

me,  prav, 
What    grief   "is     this    that    bows    thy 

reverend  head  1 ' 
The  mourner  answered,  pointing  to  the 

bed 
Whereon   was  laid    the    body   of    the 

youth, 
'  Behold,  my  friend,  the   cause !    good 

cause,  in  sooth, 
For  one  to  weep,  who  sees  his  hopes 

decay, — 
The  work  of   years  all   blasted    in    a 

day, 

As  there  thou  seest!'     Amos,  answer- 
ing, said, 
'  'T  is  true,   indeed,  thine  only   son  is 

dead  ; 
And  as  thv  love  even  so  thy  grief  is 

grea't ; 
But  tell  me,  friend,  doth  not  thy  faith 

abate 
In   some   degree  the  sharpness  of  thv 

pain'^ 

'Alas ! '  said  Bildad,  '  how  can  I  refrain 
From  these  despairing  tears,  when  thus 

I  find 

My  anxious  care  to  cultivate  the  mind, 
The  wondrous  gifts  and  graces  of  my 

son, 

Untimely  doomed  to  death,  is  all  un- 
done 7  ' 

To  iched  by  his  sorrow,  Amos  sat  awhile 
In  silent  thought ;  then,  with  a  beaming 

smile, 

As  one  who  offers  manifest  relief, 
He  said,  '  O  Bildad !  let  it  soothe  thy 

grief, 
That  Ho  who  gave  the  talents  thou  hast 

sought 
To   cherish,   and    by    culture   wouldst 

have  wrought 

To  highest  excellence  in  this  thv  son, 
Will  surely  finish  what   thou  hast  be- 
gun ! ' " 


94 


ESSE  QUAM   VI DERI. 


MY  BOOKS. 

AH  !  well  I  love  these  books  of  mine, 

That  stand  so  trimly  on  their  shelves, 
With  here  and  there  a  broken  line 

(Fat     "  quartos  "    jostling    modest 

"twelves"), — 
A  curious  company,  I  own  ; 

The  poorest  ranking  with  their  bet- 
ters : 
In  brief,  —  a  thing  almost  unknown,  — 

A  Pure  Democracy  of  Letters. 

A  motley  gathering  are  they,  — 

Some   fairly    worth   their  weight   in 

gold ; 

Some  just  too  good  to  throw  away ; 
Some  scarcely  worth  the  place  they 

hold. 

Yet  well  I  love  them,  one  and  all,  — 
These  friends  so  meek  and  unobtru- 
sive, 

Who  never  fail  to  come  at  call, 
Nor  (if  I  scold  them)  turn  abusive  ! 

If  I  have  favorites  here  and  there, 

And,  like  a  monarch,  pick  and  choose, 
I  never  meet  an  angry  stare 

That  this  I  take  and  that  refuse  ; 
No  discords  rise  my  soul  to  vex 

Among    these    peaceful    book -rela- 
tions, 
Nor  envious  strife  of  age  or  sex 

To  mar  my  quiet  lucubrations. 

And  they  have  still  another  merit, 

Which  otherwhere  one  vainly  seeks, 
Whate'er  may  be  an  author's  spirit, 

He  never  nnincited  speaks; 
And  should  he  prove  a  fool  or  clown, 

Unworth   the  precious  time   you  're 

spending, 
•How  quickly  you  can  "  put  him  down," 

Or  "  shut  him  up."  without  offending ! 


Here  —  pleasing  sight !  —  the   touchy 

brood 

Of  critics  from  dissension  cease  ; 
And  —  stranger    still !  —  no    more    at 

feud, 

Polemics  smile,  and  keep  the  peace. 
•See !  side  by  side,  all  free  from  strife 
(Save   what    the    heavy    page    may 

smother), 

The  gentle  "  Christians  "  who  in  life, 
For    conscience'    sake,    had    burned 
each  other ! 


I  call  them  friends,  these  quiet  books, 

And  well  the  title  they  may  claim, 
Who  always  give  me  cheerful  looks  ; 

(What  living    friend   has    done  the 

same  ? ) 
And,  for  companionship,  how  few, 

As  these,  my  cronies  ever  present, 
Of  all  the  friends  I  ever  knew 

Have  been  so  useful  and  so  pleasant  ? 


ESSE   QUAM  VIDERI. 

"  To  be,   not  seem  !  "  —  the   phrase   is 
old, 

And  looks  heroic,  't  is  confessed  ; 
And  yet,  for  all  its  gloss  of  gold, 

'T  will  scarcely  stand  the  final  test; 
For,  in  effect,  full  many  a  truth 
Is  in  the  seeming,  not  the  sooth. 

Be  false,  then  ?  No  !  —let  Truth  appear 

In  her  own  guise,  if  so  it  be 
Her  words  are  such  as  men  may  hear 

Unhurt,  and  such  as  harm  not  thee ; 
But  guard  thy  seeming,  nor  reveal 
The  fault  that  silence  would  conceal. 

"  Open  and  honest !  "  sayest  thou  : 
"  Why   to  my  neighbor    not    mak« 
known 

All  ugly  soul-spots  I  avow 

To  my  own  conscience  as  my  own  ; 

Plain  as  the  freckles  he  may  trace, 

Unasked,  upon  my  hand  or  face  ? " 

I  answer  thus  :  The  Mighty  One 
Who  made  thy  best  immortal  part, 

Made  it  invisible,  that  none 

May  see  thy  mind  or  read  thy  heart, 

Save  as  thou  wilt ;  else  were  thy  soul 

In  others',  not  thine  own,  control. 

'T  is  well  that  God  alone  can  see 

The  hearts  of  men  that  He  has  made 

Within  their  breasts ;  since  only  he 
With  their  infirmities  has  weighed 

Their  sins,  —  to  human  frailty  just, 

Knowing  full  well  we  are  but  dust. 

And  as  we  hide,  for  very  shame, 

With    garments   cunning   Art   doth 
lend, 

Whatever  of  our  fleshly  frame, 
Undraped,  would  mortal  eyes  offend 

(  While  to  the  Maker,  ne'er  the  less, 

His  power  and  wisdom  we  coufess) ; 


TO   A    CITY  COUSIN  ABOUT  TO  BE  MARRIED. 


So  let  our  souls  —  which,  all  unclad, 
Though  fair  as  souls  on  earth  may  be, 

Were  still  a  sight  to  make  men  sad, 
Unmeet  for  human  eyes  to  see  — 

In  modost  drapery  conceal 

The  faults  't  were  shameful  to  reveal. 

Nav,  as,  with  no  unlawful  arts, 

We   deck  our  forms  to   make  them 
fair, 

Who  shall  aver  our  wayward  hearts 
May  not  receive  an  equal  care, 

That/like  our  bodies,  they  may  be 

In  seemly  plight  for  company  ? 


THE  DEAD  LETTER. 

AND  can  it  be  ?     Ah,  yes,  I  see, 

'T  is  thirty  years  and  better 
Since  Mary  Morgan  sent  to  me 

This  musty,  musky  letter. 
A  pretty  hand  (she  could  n't  spell), 

As  any  man  must  vote  it; 
And  't  was,  as  I  remember  well, 

A  pretty  hand  that  wrote  it ! 

How  calmly  now  I  view  it  all, 

As  memory  backward  ranges,  — 
The  talks,  the  walks,  that  I  recall, 

And  then  —  the  postal  changes! 
How  well  I  loved  her  I  can  guess 

(Since  cash  is  Cupid's  hostage), — 
Just  one-and-sixpence  —  nothing  less  — 

This  letter  cost  in  postage  ! 

The  love  that  wrote  at  such  a  rate 

(By  Jove  !  it  was  a  steep  one  !) 
Five  hundred  notes  (I  calculate) 

Was  certainly  a  deep  one ; 
And  yet  it  died  —  of  slow  decline  — 

Perhaps  suspicion  chilled  it; 
I  've  quite  forgotten  if  't  was  mine 

Or  Mary's  flirting  killed  it. 

At  last  the  fatal  message  came : 

"  My  letters,  —  please  return  them  ; 
A.nd   yours  —  of  course  you  wish   the 
same  — 

I  '11  send  them  back  or  burn  them." 
Two  precious  fools,  I  must  allow, 

Whichever  was  the  greater  : 
I  wonder  if  I  'm  wiser  now, 

Some  seven  lustres  later  ? 

And  this  alone  remains!     Ah,  well'. 
These  words  of  warm  affection, 


The  faded  ink,  the  pungent  smell, 
Are  food  for  deep  reflection. 

They  tell  of  how  the  heart  contrives 
To  change  with  fancy's  fashion, 

And  how  a  drop  of  musk  survives 
The  strongest  human  passion ! 


TO  A  CITY  COUSIN  ABOUT   TO 
BE  MARRIED. 

(S.    B.) 

Is  it  true,  what  they  tell  me,  my  beauti- 
ful cousin, 
You  are  going  to  be  married  ?  —  have 

settled  the  day  ? 
That  the  cards  are  all  printed  ?  —  the 

wedding-dress  chosen  ?  — 
And  everything  fixed  for  an  evening 

in  May  ? 
Ah  — well !  —  just   imagine,  —  had   / 

been  a  Turk, 
And  you  —  but,  no  matter,  —  't  is  idle 

to  whine ; 
In  the  purest  of  bosoms  some  envy  may 

lurk, 
And  I  feel  a  little  (I  own  it !)  in  mine ! 

'T  is  over !  —  the  struggle  was  but  for  a 

minute  : 

And  now  let  me  give  yon,  dear  cous- 
in, I  pray, 
A  word  of  advice,  —  if  there  's  anything 

in  it, 
Accept  it;    if  not,  you  can  throw  it 

away. 
An   excellent  maxim    is  "  crede  exper- 

lo  "  ,- 

Which  means  (since  your  Latin  I  ven- 
ture to  doubt) 
For  practical  wisdom  't  is  best  to  refer 

to 

A  teacher  who  knows  what  he  's  talk- 
ing about. 

C'est  moi .'   I  've  been  married  this  many 

a  year ; 

And  know  rather  more  than  a  bach- 
elor can, 

And    more  — I   suppose   it  is  equally 

clear  — 

Than  a  very  young  wife  or  a  new-mar- 
ried man. 

Of  course  there  '11  be  matters  to  worry 
and  vex, 


PARTING   WORDS. 


But  woman  is  mighty,  and  Patience 

endures; 
And   o«rs — recollect — is  the   (much) 

"  softer  sex," 

Though  we  (not  very  gallantly)  say 
it  of  yours ! 

The  strong  should  be  merciful !     Wom- 
an we  find, 
Though   weaker  in  body,  surpassing 

us  still 
In  virtue;  and  strong  —  very  strong  in 

her  mind, 
(When  she  knows  what  it  is!  )  -not 

to  mention  her  will. 
Be  gentle  !     How  hard  you  will  find  it 

to  bear 
When  your  husband  is  wrong ;  and  as 

difficult,  quite, 
In  the  other  contingency,  —  not  at  all 

rare,  — 

When  you  're  forced,  in  your  heart,  to 
confess  he  was  right ! 

Be   careful    of   trifles  :  a    maxim   of 

weight 
In  questions  affecting  the  heart  or  the 

head; 
ID    wedlock,   consider    how   often    the 

fate 
Of  the  gravest  affairs  may  depend  on 

a  thread. 

On  a  button  perhaps !     Ah  !  the  "  conju- 
gal tie  " 

Should  never  be  strained  to  its  ulti- 
mate test ; 
Full  many  a  matron  has  found,  with  a 

sigh, 

That  the  fixture  was  barely  a  button, 
at  best ! 

A  truce  to  our  jesting.     While  friends 

by  the  dozen 
Their"  kind  gratulations  are   fain  to 

employ ; 

None  more  than  your  poet  —  your  mirth- 
loving  cousin  — 
Puts  his  heart  in  the  words  while  he  's 

"  wishing  you  joy." 

Quite  through  to  its  close  may  your  con- 
Maintain  the  impressions  with  which 

it  began ; 
The  women  still   saying,  "  I  envy  the 

wife," 
And   husbands  exclaiming,  "  I  envy 

the  man  ! " 
May  25, 1870. 


HOW  TO  WOO  AND  WIN. 

WOULD  you  play  the  manly  lover 
(Said  a  gray  beard  to  his  son), 

List,  my  lad,  while  I  discover 
How  a  maiden  should  be  won. 

Woo  her  not  with  boastful  phrases, 
Lest  you  teach  her  lip  to  sneer; 

Still  a  suitor's  warmest  praises 
In  his  conduct  should  appear. 

Woo  her  not  with  senseless  sighing; 

Maidens  love  a  laughing  eye : 
Tell  her  not  that  you  are  "  dying," 

Lest  she,  mocking,  bid  you' die ! 

Woo  her  not  with  weakly  whining 

O'er  your  poverty  of  pelf, 
Lest  she  answer  by  declining 

Both  your  sorrows  and  yourself ! 

Woo  her  with  a  manly  wooing ; 

Giving  hostages  to  Fate, 
All  the  heart's  devotion  showing 

By  its  strength  to  work  and  wait. 

Woo  her  not  with  idle  prattle 

Whom  you   fain   would   make   your 

wife; 
But  with  proof  that  in  life's  battle 

You  are  equal  to  the  strife. 

Like  the  knight  whose  simple  suing 
Won  the  lady  (says  the  tale), 

When,  despite  their  wordy  wooing, 
All  the  rest  were  doomed  to  fail :  — 

"  Lady !  "  quoth  the  bold   Knight  Er- 
rant, 

"  Brief  the  story  I  shall  tell : 
I  would  wed  thee  ;  here  "s  the  wnrrant 

I  shall  love  and  serve  thee  well ! " 

And,  behold !  his  dexter  fingers 
Crush  a  horse-shoe,  like  a  reed  ! 

And  within  her  lap  there  lingers 
All  the  gold  the  twain  can  need  ! 


PARTING  WORDS. 

FAREWELL  !     Howe'er  it  fare  with  me, 
(But  God  is  good  !)  I  pray  for  thee 
Such  peace  as  Heaven  may  grant  to  one 
Who,  basking  in  the  summer  sun 


THE  DUKE'S  STRATAGEM. 


97 


Of  pleasure   for  life's  nobler  part 
Bears  evermore  a  wintry  heart. 

And  if  1  lose  what  could  not  last, 
With  little  grief  that  all  is  past, 
For  me,  I  deem  my  sin  was  small  : 
No  broken  pledges  I  recall  ; 
No  shaken  constancy ;  no  word 
Of  faith,  save  what  might  be  inferred 
From  lips  that  did  but  warmly  kiss, 
Or  speak,  no  other  sense  than  this,  — 
That  thou  wert  beautiful,  and  seemed 
The  bright  ideal  I  had  dreamed 
My  kind,  but  somewhat  tardy,  Fate 
Would  send,  one  day,  to  be  my  mate. 
And,  for  a  while,  I  looked  to  thee, 
With  fond  expectancy,  to  see 
(As  suited  with  thy  handsome  face, 
Fair  to  excess  !)  the  inward  grace, 
The  noble  soul,  the  brilliant  mind, 
That  form  the  flower  of  womankind. 
The    proverb    says,   "  We    live    and 

learn  " ; 

And  so  it  came  that  I  discern 
(Since  now  I  read    thee,  through  and 

through, 
With    eyes    somewhat    love  -  blinded, 

too!) 

A  nature  shallow,  fickle,  cold; 
A  judgment  weak,  yet  over-bold  ; 
A   heart   that    yearns,   when    passion- 
moved, 

To  love  ?     No  !  —  only  to  be  loved  ! 
And  yet  receives  the  precious  store, 
Unconscious  of  the  costly  ore, 
As  an  unthinking  child  might  cry 
For  diamonds  flashing  in  its  eye, 
Whom    bits   of  glass   had    pleased    as 

well! 

I  thank  the  Fate  who  broke  the  spell ; 
I  thank  thee  for  the  petty  spite, 
That  for  a  small,  imagined  slight, 
(Though   graver   sins   had   passed   un- 
seen ! ) 

At  last  dethroned  my  Fancy's  queen, 
And  left  me  musing  how  a  face 
Which  once  had  worn  so  sweet  a  grace 
Could,  in  a  moment,  (wondrous  change!) 
Us  warmest  worshiper  estrange  ! 


MISERERE   DOMINE! 

A   HYMN. 


HAVE  pity,  Lord  !  — we  humbly  cry, 
With  trembling  voice,  and  tearful  eye ; 
Thou  knon-'st  our  ignorance  and  sin, 


And   what   bv  grace   we    might    have 

been ; 

All —  all  is  known,  0  Lord,  to  thee  ; 
Miserere  Domine ! 

Our  public  walks  and  private  ways ; 
The  follies  of  our  youthful  days ; 
Our  manhood's  errors,  —  every  stain 
Of  lust  and  pride  to  thee  are  plain ; 
For  who,  O  Lord  !  can  hide  from  thee  ' 
Miserere  Domine  ! 

Too  late  we  mourn  our  wasted  hours, 
Neglected  gifts,  perverted  powers  ; 
Affections  warm,  of  heavenly  birth, 
Lavished,  alas  !  on  toys  of  earth : 
How  far  estranged,  O  Lord,  from  thee  ! 
Miserere  Domine  ! 

How  oft,  O  Lord  !    things  bright  and 

fail- 
To  human  sight,  are  but  a  snare  ; 
A  gilded  bait  to  lure  the  soul 
Within  the  subtle  Fiend's  control : 
But  there  is  refuge,  Lord,  in  thee  ! 

Miserere  Domine  ! 

Oh,  let  us  never  feel  in  vain 

From  thy  dear  hand  the  warning  pain  ; 

The  Father's  stripes  upon  us  laid 

In  mercy,  for  thy  children's  aid  : 

Teach  us  in  all  thy  hand  to  see  : 

Miserere  Domine  ! 

"  Our  Father !  "  thou  dost  bid  us  pray  ; 
As  children  who  are  prone  to  stray 
In  devious  paths,  whence  we  retreat 
With  garments  torn  and  bleeding  feet; 
Our  Father !  let  u=  fly  to  thee  : 

Miserere  Domine  ! 

OUR  FATHER  !  ever-blesse'd  name  ! 
To  thee  we  bring  our  sin  and  shame  ; 
Weak  though  we  be,  perverse  of  will, 
Thou  art  our  gracious  Father  still, 
Who  knowest  well  how  frail  we  be. 

Miserere  Domine  f 


THE  DUKE'S  STRATAGEM. 

A   MILANESE    TALE. 

THE  Duke    of    Milan  —    Galeazzo 

named  — 
Supremely   loved   Correggia,   widely 

famed 


TEMPOEA  MUTANTUR. 


For  every  charm  a  maiden  might  pos- 
sess ; 
And,  in  her  heart,  she  loved  the  Duke 


Though  each,  awhile  (so  churlish  Fate 

designed 
To  mar  their  bliss)  knew  not  the  other's 

mind, 
But  hoped  and   feared  in   silence;  till, 

at  last, 
When  many  a  moon  of  trembling  doubt 

was  passed, 
And    Gossip    vainly   had    essayed    to 

seek 

The  cause  of  Galeazzo's  pallid  cheek 
And  moody  air,  some  ladies  of  the  Court 
Addressed  him  boldly  thus  (as  half  in 


sport 
And  half  in  earnest)  : 


Sire  !  we  all 


Your  Highness  is  in  love!  —  and  now, 

that  we 
May  pay  our  loyal  service  where  the 

same 
Is  justly  due,  we  fain  would  know  the 

ilame 
Of    her,  —  the    happy  lady    of  your 

choice ! " 

Surprised,  abashed,  the  Duke,  with  fal- 
tering voice, 

In  civil  sort  such  merry  answers  made, 
As   best  might  serve  the  question  to 

evade. 
In  vain !  as  one  bv  one  their  weapons 

fail, 

With  fresh  artillery  they  the  Duke  as- 
sail, 
Until,  at  length,  't  is  clear  the  man  must 

yield, 
By  clamor  overpowered,  —  or  fly  the 

field! 
"A  truce, — a  truce!"  he  cried,  "for 

mercy's  sake ! 
Now,  please  you  all !  a  banquet  I  will 

make, 

Such  as  may  suit  so  fair  a  company  : 
Come,  one  and  all,  and  see  what  you 

shall  see, 
To   aid  —  perchance    to    end  —   your 

merry  quest." 
And  all  said  "  Aye !  "  —  Correggia  with 

the  rest. 

The  banquet  over,  Galeazzo  set 
Upon  the  board  a  curious  cabinet 
In  which,  upon  a  panel,  was  portrayed, 
In  happiest  art,  the  picture  of  a  maid 
(Some   clever   painter's).      "There!" 

said  he, 


All  ye  who  choose,  my  lady-love  may 
see!" 

Now,  when  the  fair  Correggia  —  lin- 
gering last, 

For  fearf uluess  —  observed  that  all  who 


The   pictured  girl,   in  silence   turned 

away 
As  from   a  face  unknown,  —  in  deep 

dismay 
She  took  her  turn  to  gaze  ;  when  God 

of  Grace ! 

She  saw  no  painted  image,  but  the  face 
Which  her  own  features,  radiantly  fair, 
Reflected,  blushing,  in  a  mirror  there  ! 
And  so  it  was  the  two  true  loves  were 

known ; 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  not  alone 
The   happy   Galeazzo  filled  the  ducal 

throne ! 


TEMPORA  MUTANTUR. 

"  THE  times  are  changed  !  "  long,  long 

ago, 

A  Roman  gray  heard  sighed  ; 
"  And  still,  as  seasons  wax  and  wane, 

We  change  with  time  and  tide." 
And  I  (alas  !  that  I  must  own 

My  locks  are  growing  scanter !) 
In  pensive  retrospect  repeat, 

0  tempora  mutanlur  I 

Where  now  are  all  the  village  belles 

1  sonneteered  of  yore  ? 

Gone,  —  with  the  fashion  of  the  boots 
And  bonnets  which  they  wore ; 

Their  dimpled  cheeks  are  wrinkled  now, 
And  Time  —  the  Disenchanter ! 

Has    dimmed    the    eyes    that    dazzled 

mine,  — 
0  tempora  mutanlur  ! 

Oh  how  we  raved  of  constancy, 

Melinda  May  and  I ! 
I  've  quite  forgotten  which  was  first 

To  break  the  tender  tie  ; 
I  know  that  I  survived  the  shock, 

(Though  sworn  to  die  instanter!) 
And  'Linda  lived  —  to  love  again,  — 

O  tempora  mutantur  ! 

Good  Dr.  Proser,  where  is  he  1 
Whose  logic  clear  and  strong 

The  vestry  pniised,  —  nor  ever  deemed 
The  sermon  over-long, 


"JUSTINE,   YOU  LOVE  ME  NOT!" 


99 


Uutil  they  heard,  and  quite  preferred 
The  Revereud  Rousing  Ranter; 

To  whom  succeeded  Parson  Prim,  — 
0  tempora  mutant ur  ! 

Yes,  times  are  changed ;  but  one  can  dine, 

And  Mag  's  the  best  of  cooks. 
"  No    dinner  1 "    John !    "  Sir,    if  you 
please, 

Mag  's  gone  to  '  go  for  Snooks ' ! " 
And  wife  ?      "  She  's  gone  along  with 
Mag." 

John !  bring  me  that  decanter !  — 
15  v  Jove  !  I  '11  go  and  vote  for  Jones ! 

0  tem/>ora  mutantur! 


A  CHARMING  WOMAN. 

A  CHARMING  woman,  I  've  heard  it  said 

By  other  women  as  light  as  she ; 
But  all  in  vain  I  puzzle  my  head 

To  find  wherein  the  charm  may  be. 
Her  face,  indeed,  is  pretty  enough, 

And   her   form  is  quite  as  good  as 

the  best, 
Where  Nature  has  given  the  bony  stuff, 

And  a  clever  milliner  all  the  rest. 

Intelligent  ?     Yes,  —  in  a  certain  way  ; 
With  a  feminine  gift  of  ready  speech  ; 
And  knows  very  well  what  not  to  say 
Whenever  the  theme  transcends  her 

reach. 

But  turn  the  topic  on  things  to  wear, 
From  an  opera  cloak  to   a  robe   de 

n  it  it,— 
Hats,    barques,    or  bonnets,  —  't  will 

make  you  stare 
To  see  how  fluent  the  lady  can  be ! 

Her  laugh  is  hardly  a  thing  to  please ; 

For    an   honest    laugh  must  ahvavs 

start 

From  a  gleesome  mood,  like  a  sudden 
breeze, 

And  h:'rs  is  purely  a  matter  of  art, — 
A  muscular  motion  made  to  show 

What  Nature  designed  to  lie  beneath 
The  finer  mouth  ;  but  wh;it  can  she  do, 

if  that  is  ruined  to  show  the  teeth  ? 

To  her  seat  in  church  —  a  good  half- 
mile— 

When  the  day  is  fine  she  is  sure  to  go, 
Arrayed,  of  course,  in  the  latest  style 

La  mode  de  Paris  has  got  to  show ; 


And  she  puts  her  hands  on  the  velvet 

pew 
(Can  hands  so  white  have  a  taint  of 

sin  ?) 
And  thinks  —  how   her    prayer-book's 

tint  of  blue 
Must  harmonize  with  her  milky  skin ! 

Ah !  what  shall  we  say  of  one  who  walks 
In   fields  of    flowers    to   choose  the 

weeds? 
Reads    authors    of    whom    she    never 

talks, 

And  talks  of  authors  she  never  reads  ? 
She  's  a  charming  woman,  I  've  heard 

it  said 

By  other  women  as  light  as  she  ; 
But  all  in  vain  I  puzzle  my  head 
To  find  wherein  the  charm  may  be. 


"JUSTINE,    YOU    LOVE    ME 
NOT ! " 

"  H<51as  !  TOUS  ne  m'aimez  pas."  —  PIBON. 

I  KNOW,  Justine,  you  speak  me  fair 

As  often  as  we  meet ; 
And  't  is  a  luxury,  I  swear, 

To  hear  a  voice  so  sweet ; 
And  yet  it  does  not  please  me  quite, 

The  civil  way  you  've  got ; 
For  me  you  're" something  too  polite,  — 

Justine,  you  love  me  not ! 

I  know,  Justine,  voti  never  scold 

At  aught  that  I  may  do  : 
If  I  am  passionate  or  cold, 

'T  is  all  the  same  to  you. 
"  A  charming  temper,"  say  the  men, 

"  To  smooth  a  husband's  lot " : 
I  wish  't  were  ruffled  now  and  then,  — 

Justine,  you  love  me  not ! 

I  know,  Justine,  you  wear  a  smile 

As  beaming  as  the  sun ; 
But  who  supposes  all  the  while 

It  shines  for  only  one  ? 
Though  azure  skies  are  fair  to  see, 

A  transient  cloudy  spot 
In  yours  would  promise  more  to  me,  — 

j'ustiue,  you  love  me  not ! 

I  know,  Justine,  you  make  my  name 

Your  eulogistic  theme, 
And  say  —  if  any  chance  to  blame  — 

You  hold  me  in  esteem. 


100 


LOVE  AND  MONEY. 


Such  words,  for  all  their  kindly  scope, 

Delight   me  nor  a  jot ; 
Just   so    you   would   have   praised   the 
Pope,  — 

Justine,  you  love  me  not ! 

I  know,  Justine,  for  I  have  heard 

What  friendly  voices  tell,  — 
You  do  not  hlnsh  to  say  the   word, 

"  Yon  like  me  passing  well  "  ; 
And  thus  the  fatal  sound  I  hear 

That  seals  my  lonely  lot : 
There  's  nothing  now  to  hope  or  fear,  — 

Justine,  you  love  me  not ! 


"BE  GOOD  TO  YOURSELF." 

"  GOOD-BY  !  good-by  !  "  the  driver  said. 

As  the  coach  went  off  in  a  whirl 
(And  the  coachman   bowed   his  hand- 
some head )  ; 

"  Be  good  to  yourself, —  my  giii  !  " 

Ah  !  many  a  fond  good-by  I  've  heard, 
From  many  an  aching  heart ; 

And  many  a  friendly  farewell  word, 
When  strangers  came  to  part ; 

And   I  've  heard  a  thousand   merry 
quips, 

And  many  a  senseless  joke, 
And  many  a  fervent  prayer  from  lips 

That  all  a-tremble  spoke  ; 

And  many  a  bit  of  good  advice 
In  smooth  proverbial  phrase  ; 

And  many  a  wish  — of  little  price  — 
For  health  and  happy  days : 

But  musing  how  the  human  soul 
(Whate'er  the  Fates  may  will) 

Still  measures  by  its  sdf-control 
Its  greatest  good  or  ill,  — 

Of  benedictions,  I  protest, 

'Mid  many  a  shining  pearl, 
I  like  the  merry  coachman's  best,  — 

"  Be  good  to"  yourself,  —  my  girl !  " 


TO  A    BACHELOR    FRIEND    IN 
THE  COUNTRY. 

COMK  and  see  us,  any  day; 
With  his  choicest  mercies 


Heaven  has  showered  my  rugged  way, 

Plenty  —  as  my  verses. 
Share  my  home,  O  lonely  elf, 

Cosiest  of  houses 
Wisely  ordered,  like  myself ! 

By  the  best  of  spouses. 

Though  't  is  small  upon  the  ground, 

I  may  fairly  mention 
Toward  the  sky  it  will  be  found 

Of  sublime  extension. 
Narrow  is  a  city-lot, 

When  you  've  truly  said  it ; 
But  the  "  stories  "  we  have  got 

You  would  scarcely  credit ! 

Though  the  stairs  are  something  tall, 

You  have  but  to  clamber 
Up  the  fourth  ;  "  upon  the  wall 

Is  the  Prophet's  chamber." 
Thence  my  garden  vou  may  vieW; 

Kept  with  costly  labor, 
Specially  for  me  and  you, 

By  my  wealthy  neighbor. 

Books,  you  hardly  need  be  told  — ' 

Wait  your  welcome  coming  ; 
Some  I  warrant —  mainly  old  — 

Worthy  of  your  thumbing. 
For  the  rest,  I  only  swear, 

Though  they  're  rather  recent, 
You  will  find  the  printing  fair, 

And  the  binding  decent. 

Breakfast  ?  —  Mutton-chops  at  eight 

(Cook  will  do  them  nicely). 
Dinner  ?  —  What  you  choose  to  state, 

Served  at  two  precisely. 
Bed  ?  —  Delicious  (not  a"  few 

Were  the  swans  who  lined  it) 
As  a  bachelor,  like  you, 

Could  expect  to  find  it ! 


LOVE  AND  MONEY. 

A    HOMILY. 

OF  course,  my  dear  Charley,  I  hold, 

As  a  poet  and  moralist  should, 
That  love  is  far  better  than  gold 

(Though  gold  is  undoubtedly  good) ; 
And  yet,  as  the  proverb  declares, 

I  fear  me  the  doctrine  is  true, 
That  in  managing  human  affairs, 

"L'amonrfait  beaucouf) ;  fargent  f<vK 
tout !  " 


PART  OF  AN  AFTER-DINNER  SPEECH. 


101 


Yon  wish  —  for  example  —  to  win 

A  proper  companiou  for  life, 
(At  forty  't  is  time  to  begin !) 

And  so  you  go  courting  a  wife ; 
You  offer  your  heart  and  your  purse, 

But  much  as  affection  may  do, 
There  's  meaning,  no  doubt,  in  the  verse, 

"L'amour  fait  beaucoup;  t'argent  fait 
tout !  * 

You  purchase  an  elegant  house, 

As  an  opulent  gentleman  ought; 
And  you  and  vour  beautiful  spouse 

By  people  o'f  Fashion  are  sought : 
But  when  you  remember  the  way 

"  Society  "  chooses  her  few, 
Perhaps  you  may  sigh  as  you  say, 

"L'amour  fait"  beaucoup ;  I'argent  fait 
tout ! " 

In  conjugal  matters  as  well 

As  those  of  a  worldlier  sort, 
What  virtue  in  money  may  dwell 

Were  worthy  a  sage's  report ; 
You  're  honored  —  Oh,  not  for  your  pelf ; 

But,  taking  the  rosiest  view^ 
Do  you  think  it  is  all  for  yourself  ? 

""L'amour  fait  beaucoup ;  I'argent  fait 
tout ! h 

Oh,  love  is  a  beautiful  thing, 

A  passion  of  heavenly  birth; 
But  money  's  a  tyrannous  king, 

The  mightiest  monarch  on  earth ; 
And,  in  managing  human  affairs, 

I  fVar  me  the  doctrine  is  true, 
As  the  old  Gallic  proverb  declares, 

"L'amour  fait  beaucoup ;   I'argent  fait 
fruit  !  " 


ODE. 

ON  OCCASION  OF  THE  UNVEILING  OF 
THE  BUST  OF  JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE, 
IN  PROSPECT  PARK,  RROOKLYN,  N.Y., 
SEPTEMBER  27,  1873. 

To  him  who  sang  of  "  Home,   sweet 
Home," 

In  strains  so  sweet  the  simple  lay 
Has  thrilled  a  million  hearts,  we  come 

A  nation's  grateful  debt  to  pay. 
Yet  not  for  him  the  bust  we  raise ; 

Ah  no!  can  lifeless  lips  prolong 
Fame's    trumpet   voice?      The    poet's 
praise 

Lives  in  the  music  of  his  song ! 


The  noble  dead  we  fondly  seek 

To  honor  with  applauding  breath  : 
Unheeded  fall  the  words  we  speak 

Upon  "  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death." 
Yet  not  in  vain  the  spoken  word, 

Nor  vain  the  monument  we  raise ; 
With  quicker  throbs    our    hearts  are 
stirred 

To  catch  the  nobleness  we  praise ! 

Columbia's  sons,  —  we  share  his  fame  ; 

'Tis  for  ourselves  the  bust  we  rear, 
That  they  who  mark  the  graven  name 

May  know  that  name  to  us  is  dear; 
Dear  as  the  home  the  exile  sees,  — 

The  fairest  spot  beneath  the  sky,  — 
Where  first  —  upon  a  mother's  knees  — 

He    slept,   and  where  he  yearns  to 
die. 

But  not  alone  the  lyric  fire 

Was  his ;  the  Drama's  muse  can  tell 
His  genius  could  a  Kean  inspire; 

A  Kemble  owned  his  magic  spell; 
A  Kean,  to  "  Brutus'"  self  so  true 

(As  true  to  Art  and  Nature's  laws), 
He  seemed  the  man  the  poet  drew, 

And  shared  with  him  the  town's  ap- 
plause. 

Kind  hearts  and  brave,  with  truth  severe, 

He  drew,  unconscious,  from  his  own  ; 
0  nature  rare !     But  pilgrims  here 

Will  oft'nest  say,  in  pensive  tone, 
With  reverent  face  and  lifted  hand, 

"  'T  was  he  —  by  Fortune  forced  to 

roam  — 
Who,  homeless  in  a  foreign  land, 

So  sweetly  sang  the  joys  of  home ! " 


PART    OF    AN    AFTER-DINNER 
SPEECH. 

SPOKEN  AT  THE  FESTIVAL  OF  TUB 
41 ST  ANNUAL  CONVENTION  OF  "tl 
YWAON  AT  DELMONICO'S,  NEW 
YORK,  APRIL  8,  1874. 

DEAR  BROTHERS:  I'm  something  un- 
happy. I  heard 

Such  abuse,  t'  other  day,  of  an  innocent 
word 

If  roused  all  the  wrath  of  the  mildest  of 
men 

To  a  height  as  colossal,  I  fancy,  as  when 

A  former  occasion  provoked  the  inquiry 


102 


PART  OF  AN  AFTER  DINNER  SPEECH. 


In  the  mind  of  the  Mantuan,  "  Tantcene 

tree  ?  " 
You  '11  say  there  was  reason,  —  I  '11  state 

you  the  case : 
There  's  a  boy  in  my  house  in  whose 

handsomish  face 
Are  features  from  which  one  may  easily 

gather 

He  is  fairly  entitled  to  call  me  his  father : 
A  youngster  of  thirty  ;   as  yet  rather 

slim, 
But  of  excellent  promise  in  stature  and 

limb. 
Well,  —  to  tell  you  the  story,  —  a  saucy 

young  boor 
Of  Johnny's  acquaintance  came  up  to  the 

door, 

And,  ringing  the  bell  in  a  violent  way, 
Sent  up  the  Hibernian  maiden  to  say 
That  a  gentleman  wanted,  a  moment, 

to  see 

"Mister"  (adding  the  surname  belong- 
ing to  me). 
"  Bid  him  come  to  my  study  ! "  I  civilly 

said. 
In  a  minute  or  so  Maggie  popped  in  her 

head; 
"  It  was  not  for  yourself,  sure,  the  fellow 

did  o.r  f 
He  said  it  was  young  and  not  0/6?  Mister 

S— e 
He  wanted  to  see ! " 

And  am  I  to  be  told 

By  a  blundering  booby  that  I  —  /am 
old? 

The  word,  I  'm  aware,  is  by  no  means  a 
new  one, 

And  for  people  of  eighty,  no  doubt,  is 
the  true  one ; 

What  incensed  my  soul  to  such  fierce  in- 
dignation 

Was  its  very  improper,  absurd  applica- 
tion ! 

Is  he  old  who  can  climb  to  the  highest 
of  attics, 

And  never  complain  of  fatigue  or  "  rheu- 
matics "  ? 

Is  he  old  \\  ho,  in  spite  of  his  fast-thin- 
ning curls, 

Has  a  joke  for  the  boys  and  a  smile  for 
the  girls  ? 

Is  he  old  whom  fair  women  —  (No ! 
not  the  duress 

Of  prison  or  torture  shall  make  me  con- 
fess!) 

Is  he  old  who  owes  nothing  to  fraudu- 
lent art  1 


Above  all,  is  he  old  who  is  young  at  the 
heart? 

I  rather  think  not!  But,  quien  sabef 
Who  knows  ? 

The  bud  of  last  evening  to-day  is  a 
rose ; 

And  roses  will  fade  ;  and,  in  like  man- 
ner, when 

We  jolly  young  fellows  grow  middle- 
aged  men, 

Perhaps  the  Good  Father  (it  surely  were 
kind) 

Makes  us  to  our  failings  conveniently 
blind. 

"  Know  yourself ! "  said  the  Grecian.  A 
difficult  task, 

And  rather  too  much  of  a  mortal  to 
ask; 

We  all  know  the  name  of  the  fellow  who 
penned  it, 

And  how  he  asserted  "e  ccelo  descendit!" 

"  Know  yourself !  "  It  is  well ;  but  for 
my  part,  my  brothers, 

I  would  rather  extend  my  acquaintance 
with  others, 

As  promising,  surely,  a  better  return 

Than  aujzht  of  myself  I  could  possibly 
learn ! 

To  learn  Human  Nature  is  truly  an  art, 

And  many  imagine  they  've  got  it  by 
heart, 

Because  they  are  keen  at  detecting  of- 
fenses, 

Base  motives,  sly  vices,  and  shallow  pre- 
tenses ; 

Let  us  study,  the  rather,  to  find  out  the 
merit 

The  faultiest  neighbor  may  chance  to 
inherit; 

To  publish  the  virtue  that 's  misunder- 
stood, 

And  always  and  everywhere  seek  for 
the  good. 

There  was  one  "  Paddy  Goldsmith,"  an 
author  of  note, 

(And  who  has  not  read  what  "  poor  Oli- 
ver" wrote?) 

A  scholar,  philosopher,  writer  of  plays, 

And  a  poet  who  still  wears  the  freshest 
of  bays, — 

Every  dandy  in  town,  every  chamber- 
maid Moll, 

Could  tell  of  his  blunders  and  laugh  at 
poor  "Noll  "; 

Every  coxcomb  could  see  he  was  homely 
and  rough, 

And  of  follies  and  foibles  had  more  tha» 
enough : 


ODE   TO   THE  LEGISLATURE. 


103 


But  it  took  the  profoumlest  of  sages  to 

scan 
The  learning  and  genius  that  lay  in  the 

man  ! 
Sam  Johnson  could  see,  and  was  bold  to 

declare, 
There  was  spirit  and  humor  and  poetry 

there ; 
And  to  fools  who  might  sneer,  he  had 

ever  this  answer : 
"  You  may  laugh  as  you  will,  sir  !  and 

say  what  you  can,  sir  ! 
He  '&  a  genuine  wit  and   a  wonderful 

man,  sir!" 


ODE   TO   THE  LEGISLATURE. 

ON     THE     EXPIRATION    OF     THE     "HUN- 
DRED   DAYS." 

O  WISE  Assembly  !   and  O  wiser  Sen- 

ate ! 

I  much  rejoice  to  pen  it,  — 
The  Hundred  Days  in  which  you  lived 

in  clover 

Are  gone  and  over  ! 
Gone   are  the    Legislators,  great   and 

small  ; 
Clerks,  Ushers,  Porters,  Messengers,  and 

all 
The  crowd  of  country  cousins   in  the 

hall! 
Gone  are  the  vultures,  large  and  lit- 

tle ; 

Gone  are  the  venders  of  cold  victual  ; 
Gone  are  the  ladies,  short  and  tall, 

The  virtuous  and  the  vicious, 
The  meritorious  and  the  meretricious, 
Who  follow  their  vocations 
Where  you  resort  ; 
In  short, 

le-women,  and  the  sort 
With  other  appellations  ! 
Gone  is  the  patient,  patriotic  "  Lobby  "  ; 
Some,  who  have  bagged  their  game 
Laden  with  wealth  —  and  shame; 
And  others,  leading  home  their  lame 

And  ill-conditioned  hobby, 
A  little  leaner  than  it  came  ! 


The  Appl 
With  othe 


Gone,  too,  the  Sharps  and  Flats  who 

swarm 
In  secret  sessions,  and  perform 

"Feats  of  the  Ring" 
Unequaled  elsewhere,  —  not  the  sort  of 

thing 


Where  human  features  catch  defacing 

blows,  — 

But  meaner  feats  than  those, 
Degrading  legislative  Ayes  and  Noes  I 

O  famous  Hundred  !  — 
In  which  (while  "  rural  districts  "  won- 
dered) 

Your  little  Tullys  thundered, 
Your  Hectors  blustered,  and  your  Solons 

blundered, 
And  Buncombe  —  honest  ass !  was  praised 

—  and  plundered  ! 
To  think  !  what  wind  and  muscle  were 

expended 

(Mere  money  not  to  mention) 
In  quieting  dissension ! 
What  righteous  bills  opposed,  and  bad 

defended ; 
What  Acts  (and  facts)  were  made  and 

marred  and  mended 
Before  the  Session  ended ! 

They  say,  O  Legislature  !  in  despite 
Of  all  adverse  appearances,  you  might 

Have  been  much  weaker. 
(How?   I  have  asked, —  but  all   in 

vain  ; 

None  could,  or  would,  explain !) 
But  this  I  freely  own,  —  you   had   a 

"  Speaker " 
That  justified    the    title,  and  could 

speak, 
In  speeches  neither  few  nor  weak  ; 

And  though  he  often  pained  us,  — 
When  at  his  highest  pitch  of  declama- 
tion, 

The  man's  oration,  and  vocif-oration, 
Were  really  Tremain-dous  I 

Perhaps,  O  Legislature  !  since  your  pay 

Is  rather  small 
(I  mean,   of   course,   the    regular   per 

diem 
And  not  the  price  of  votes  when  brokers 

buy  'em), 

You  saw  the  Hundredth  day 
With  pleasure,  after  all. 
If  so,  I  will  not  hint,  — there's  little 

need, — 
You  and  the    people  were,  for  once, 

agreed ! 

Farewell,  0  Senate !  and  Assembly,  too ! 
Good- by  !  adios  !  a-Dio!  adieu! 

(I  don't  say  au  revoir  !) 
With  common-sense  I  would  n't  be  at 


104 


LAURA. 


That  Legislatures  come,  it  needs  must  be, 
JAnd  go,  thank  Heaven !)  but  wlieu  I  see 

Your  Ways  and  Means,  I  think 
Of  what,  upon  a  time,  a  person  said 

Touching  an  article  we  eat  and  drink : 
If  you  'd  enjoy  (quoth  he)  your  ginger- 

Or  sip  your  sweetened  coffee  with  de- 
light, 
Of  sugar-making  pray  avoid  the  sight ! 

And  thus,  with  greater  cause, 
Would  we  respect  the  Laws 
(Which    should    be    reverenced    to   be 
obeyed), 

IT  18  N'T  BEST  TO  SEE  THEM  MADE  ! 


WHY:   A   SONNET. 

*  WHY  do  I  love  thee  ?  "    Thus,  in  ear- 
nest wise, 
I  answer :  Sweet !  I  love  thee  for  thy 

face 

Of  rarest  beauty  ;  and  for  every  grace 
That  in  thy  voice  and  air  and  motion  lies ; 
I  love  thee  for  the  love-look  in  thine 

eyes,  — 
The  melting  glance  which  only  one 

may  see 
Of  all  who  mark  how  beautiful  they 

be; 

I  love  thee  for  thy  mind  (which  yet  de- 
nies, 

for  modesty,  how  wonderful  it  is) ! 
I  love  thee  for  thy  heart  so  true  and 

warm, 

I  love  thee  for  thy  bosom's  hidden 
charm  * 


I  love  thee  for  thy  mouth  so  sweet  to 

kiss; 
Because  of  these  I  love  thee;  yet 

above 
All  else,  because  I  cannot  choose  but 

love ! 


LAURA. 

IN   MEMORIAM. 

"  O  HATEFUL  Death !  "  my  angry  spirit 

cries, 
"Who  thus  couldst  take  my  darling 

from  my  sight, 
Shrouding  her  beauty  in  sepulchral 

night ; 
O  cruel !   unto  prayers  and  tears   and 

sighs 

Inexorable  ! "     "  Hush ! "  my  soul  re- 
plies ; 

"  Be  just,  O  stricken  heart !  the  mor- 
tal strife 
Which  we   call   'death'   is   birth   to 

higher  life. 
Safe   in   the  Father's   Mansion   in   the 

skies, 

She  bides  thy  coming ;  only  gone  before 
A  little  while,  that  at"  thy   parting 

breath 
Thou  inayst  endure  a  lighter  pain  of 

death, 
And  gladlier  pass  beyond  this  earthly 

shore ; 
For,  with  thy  Laura  calling  from  on 

high, 
It  canuot,  sure,  be  very  hard  to  die." 


FATHER  PUMPKIN;   OR,  ALWAYS  IN  LUCK. 


105 


FAIRY  TALES,   LEGENDS,  AND 
APOLOGUES. 


FATHER    PUMPKIN;    OR,    AL- 
WAYS IN  LUCK. 

AN    ARABIAN    TALE. 


IN    Cairo  once   there   dwelt  a  worthy 

man, 

Toilsome  and  frugal,  but  extremely 
poor ; 

"  Howe'er,"  he  grumbled,  "  I  may  toil 

and  plan, 
The  wolf  is  ever  howling  at  my  door, 

While  arrant  rascals  thrive  and   pros- 
per; hence 

I  much  misdoubt  the  ways  of  Providence. 


"  Allah  is  Allah ;  and,  we  all  agree, 

Mohammed  is  his  Prophet.    Be  it  so ; 
But  what's  Mohammed  ever  done  for 

me, 
Tc  boil  my  kettle,  I  should  like  to 

know  ? 

The  thieves  fare  better ;  and  I  much  in- 
cline 

From  this  day  forth  to  make  their  call- 
ing mine." 


"Dog  of  an   Arab!"  cried   his  pious 

spouse, 
"So  you  would  steal  to  better  your 

estate, 
And  hasten  Allah's  vengeance !   Shame ! 

arouse ! 
Why  sit  you  there  repining  at  your 

fate? 
Pray  to  the  Prophet,  —  sinner  that  you 

are, — 
Then  wash  your  face  and  go  to  the 

Bazaar. 


Take   with  you  pen  and  paper   and 

a  book, 
And,    sitting    in    a    corner,  gravely 

make 


Some  mystic  scrawls  ;  put  on  a  solemn 

look, 
As  if  you  were  a  wise  and  learned 

sheik ; 
And,  mark  my  word,  the  people  in  a 

trice 
Will  come  in  throngs  to  purchase  your 

advice." 


"  'T  is  worth  a  trial,  woman,  I  confess  ; 
Things  can't  be  worse,"  the  moody 

Arab  said ; 
"But  then,  alas!  I   have    no    proper 

dress, 

Not  e'en  a  turban  to  adorn  my  head." 
"  Allah    be  praised !  "  Just    here   the 

woman  spied 
A  hollow  pumpkin  lying  at  her  side. 


"  See !  this  will  do !  "  and,  cutting  it  in 

twaiu, 

She  placed   the   half  upon  her  hus- 
band's pate ; 

"  'T  is  quaint  and  grave,  and  well  befits 

thy  brain, 

Most    reverend   master,"    cried    the 
dame,  elate. 

"  Now  to  thy  labor  hasten  thee  away, 

And  thou  shalt  prosper  from  this  very 
day  ! " 


And  so,  obedient   to  his   wife's   com- 
mand, 
The  anxious  sheik  procured  a  little 

nook 

In  the  Bazaar,  where,  sitting  by  a  stand, 
With  much  grimace  he  pored  upon 

his  book, 

Peering  around,  at  intervals,  to  spjr 
A  customer,  if  such  a  thing  were  nigh. 


And  soon.  >ndeed,  a  customer  appeared, 
A  peasant  pale  and  sweating  with  dis- 
tress. 


106 


FATHER  PUMPKIN;   OR,  ALWAYS  IN  LUCK. 


"Good   Father    Pumpkin!    may    your 

mightjr  beard  " 
(Bowing    in    reverence)   "  be   never 

less! 
I    come   to  crave  your  counsel ;    for, 

alas! 
Most  learned  Father,  I  have  lost  my 


"  Now,  curse  the  donkey ! "  cried  the 

puzzled  man, 
Unto   himself,    "and   curse   Fatima 

too, 
Who  sent  me  here !  for,  do  the  best  I 

can, 
And  that 's  the  best  that  any  one  can 

do, 
I  'm    sure  to  blunder."     So,  in  sheer 

despair, 
He  named  the  graveyard  :  "  Seek  your 

donkey  there ! " 


It  chanced  the  ass  that  very  moment 

grazed 
Within  the  graveyard,  as  the  sheik 

had  told ; 

And  so  the  peasant,  joyful  and  amazed, 
Gave  thanks  and  money ;   nor  could 

he  withhold 
His  pious  prayers,  but,  bowing  to  the 

ground, 
Cried,  "  Great  is  Allah !  —  for  my  ass  is 

found ! " 


"Allah  is  Allah!"  said  the    grateful 

sheik, 

Returning   homeward   with  his   pre- 
cious fee ; 

"  I    mtu-h    rejoice   for    dear    Fatima's 

sake; 

Few  men,  in  sooth,  have  such  a  mate 
as  she ; 

Most  wives  are  bosh,   or  worse   than 
bosh,  but  mine 

In  wit  and  beauty  is  almost  divine !  " 


Next  day  he  hastened  early  to  his  post, 
But  found  some  clients  had  arrived 

before; 
One  eager  dame  a  skein  of  silk   had 

lost; 

Another  money ;  and  a  dozen  more, 
Of  either  sex,  were  waiting  to  recover 
A  fickle  mistress  or  a  truant  lover. 


With  solemn  face  the  sheik  replied  to 

each 

Whate'er  his  whim  might  move   his 
tongue  to  say ; 

And  all   turned   out  according  to  his 

speech ; 

And  so  it  chanced  for  many  a  lucky 
day, 

Till  "  Father  Pumpkin  "  grew  a  famous 
seer, 

Whose  praise  had  even  reached  the  Sul- 
tan's ear. 


"Allah    is   Allah!"    cried   the   happy 

sheik ; 
"And    nevermore,   Fatima,   will   I 

doubt 

Mohammed  is  his  prophet ;  let  us  take 
Our  ease   henceforward  "  —  Here  a 

sudden  shout 

Announced  the  Sultan's  janizaries,  sent, 
They  said,  to  seize  him,  —  but  with  kind 

intent. 


"  The  Grand  Seraglio  has  been  robbed 

by  knaves 

Of    all   the    roval  jewels ;   and   the 
Porte, 

To  get  them  back  again,  your  presence 

craves 

In  Stamboul ;  he  will  pay  you  richly 
for  't, 

If  you  succeed;  if  not,  — why  then,  in- 
stead 

Of  getting  monev,  you  will  lose  your 
head." 

XVT. 
"  My  curse  upon  thee !  "  cried  the  angry 

man 
Unto  Fatima;   "see  what  thou  hast 

done ! 
O   woman,   woman !    since   the   world 

began 
All  direst   mischiefs  underneath  the 

sun 

Are  woman's  doing  —  "    Here  the  Sul- 
tan's throng 
Of  janizaries  bade  him  "  Come  along  !  " 

XVII. 

The  seer's  arrival  being  now  proclaimed 
Throughout  the  capital,  the  robbers 
quake 


FATHER  PUMPKIN;   OR,  ALWAYS  IN  LUCK. 


107 


With  very  fear;  while,   trembling  and 

ashamed, 
In   deeper  terror  sits    the   wretched 

sheik, 

Cursing  Fatima  for  a  wicked  wife 
Whose  rash  ambition  has  betraj'ed  his 

life. 


"  But  seven  short  days  my  sands  have 

yet  to  run, 
And   then,   alas !    I  lose   my  foolish 

head; 
These  seven  white  beans  I  '11  swallow, 

one  by  one, 
To  mark  each  passing  day  ere  I  am 

dead. 

Alas!  alas!  the  Sultan's  hard  decree! 
The  sun  is   setting  :    there  goes  one !  " 

said  he. 


Just    then    a  thief    (the  leader  of  the 

band 

That  stole  the  Sultan's  jewels)  pass- 
ing bv, 

Heard  tin-  remark,  and    saw  the  lifted 

hand, 

And  ran   awav  as  fast  as  he  could 
fly. 

To   tell"  his  comrades  that,   beyond  a 
doubt, 

The  cunning  seer  had  fairly  found  him 
out. 


Next   day   another,  ere   the   hour  was 

dark, 
Passed   by   the   casement   where   the 

sheik  was  s>>en  ; 
His   hand   was  lifted   warninglv,    and 

hark ! 
"  There  ijws  a  second!"  (swallowing 

the  bean.) 
The  robber  fled,  amazed,  and  told  the 

crew 
'T  was  time  to  counsel  what  were  best 


But  still, — as  if  the  faintest  doubt  to 

cure,  — 
The  following  eve  the  robbers  sent  a 

third  ; 
And   so  till  six  had  made  the  matter 

sure 

(For  unto  each  the  same  event  oc- 
curred), 


When,   taking    counsel,    they   at   once 

agreed 
To  seek  the  wizard  and  confess  the  deed. 


"  Most  reverend  Father,"  thus  the  chief 

began, 
"  Thy  thoughts  are  just ;  thy  spoken 

words  are  true ; 
To   hide    from   thee   surpasses   mortal 

man  ; 
Our    evil   works    henceforward    we 

eschew, 
For  now  we  know  that  sinning  never 

thrives ; 
Here,  take  the  jewels,  but  oh  spare  our 

lives ! " 

XXIIT. 

"  The  law  enjoins,"  the  jovful  sheik  re- 
plied, 

"  That  bloody  Death  shall   end  the 
robber's  days ; 

But,  that  your  sudden  virtue  may  be 

tried, 

Swear  on  the  Koran  y"ou  will  mend 
your  ways, 

And  then  depart."  The  robbers  roundly 
swore, 

In  Allah's  name,  that  they  would  rob 
no  more. 

XXIV. 

"  Allah   is  Allah ! "  cried   the  grateful 

sheik. 

Holding  the  jewels  in  the  vizier's  face. 
The  vizier  answered,  "  Sir,  be  pleased 

to  take 
The    casket    to   the   Sultan.      "No, 

your  Grace," 
The  slieik  replied,  "  the  gems  are  here, 

you  see ; 
Pray   tell   the  Sultan  he  may  come  to 

me! " 

xxv. 

The  Sultan  came,  and,  ravished  to  be- 
hold 

The  precious  jewels  to  his  hand  re- 
stored, 

He  made  the  finder  rich  in  thanks  and 

gold, 

And  on  the  instant  pledged  his  royal 
word, 

And  straight  confirmed  it  in  the  Proph- 
et's name, 

To  grant  whatever  he  might  choose  to 
claim. 


108 


THE  KING  AND  TEE   COTTAGER. 


XXTI. 

"Sire  of  the  faithful !  publish  a  decree  " 
(The  sheik  made  auswer),  "  and  pro- 
claim to  all 

That  none  henceforth  shall  ever  ques- 
tion me 

Of  any  matter  either  great  or  smnll ; 
I   ask   no  more.     So   shall   my  labors 

cease ; 
My  waning  life  I  fain  would  spend  in 


XXVII. 

The  Sultan  answered  .  "  Be  it  even  so  ; 
And  may  your  beard  increase  a  thou- 
sand-fold ; 

And  may  vour  house  with  children  over- 
flow !  " 

And  so  the  sheik,  o'erwhelmed  with 
praise  and  gold, 

Returned  unto  the  city  whence  he  came, 

Blessing    Mohammed's    and    Fatima's 
name! 


THE    KING   AND    THE    COTTA- 
GER. 

A   PERSIAN    LEGEND. 


PRAY  list  unto  a  legend 
The  ancient  poets  tell ; 

'T  is  of  a  mighty  monarch 
In  Persia  once  did  dwell ; 

A-  mighty  queer  old  monarch 
Who  ruled  his  kingdom  well. 


"  I  must  build  another  palace," 

Observed  this  mighty  king; 
"For  this  is  getting  shabby 

Alontc  the  southern  wing ; 
And,  really,  for  a  monarch, 

It  is  n't  quite  the  thing. 

in. 
"  So  I  will  have  a  new  one, 

Although  I  greatly  fear, 
To  build  it  just  to  suit  me 

Will  cost  me  rather  dear ; 
And  I  '11  choose,  God  wot,  another  spot, 

Much  finer  than  this  here." 


So  he  traveled  o'er  his  kingdom 
A  proper  site  to  find, 


Where  he  might  build  a  palace 

Exactly  to  his  mind, 
All  with  a  pleasant  prospect 

Before  it,  and  behind. 


Not  long  with  this  endeavor 
The  king  had  traveled  round, 

Ere,  to  his  royal  pleasure, 
A  charming  spot  he  found  ; 

But  an  ancient  widow's  cabin 
Was  standing  on  the  ground. 


"  Ah  !  here,"  exclaimed  the  monarch, 

"  Is  just  the  proper  spot, 
If  this  woman  would  allow  me 

To  remove  her  little  cot." 
But  the  beldam  answered  plainly, 

She  had  rather  he  would  not ! 


"  Within  this  lonely  cottage, 
Great  Monareh.  I  was  born ; 

And  only  from  this  cottage 
By  Death  will  I  be  torn  : 

So  spare  it  in  your  justice, 
Or  spoil  it  in  your  scorn  ! " 

VIII. 

Then  all  the  courtiers  mocked  her, 
With  cruel  words  and  jeers  :  — 

"  'T  is  plain  her  royal  master 
She  neither  loves  nor  fears ; 

We  would  knock  her  ugly  hovel 
About  her  ugly  ears  ! 


"  When  ever  was  a  subject 

Who  might  the  king  withstand  ? 

Or  deem  his  spoken  pleasure 
As  less  than  his  command  ? 

Of  course  he  '11  rout  the  beldam, 
And  confiscate  her  land  !  " 


But,  to  their  deep  amazement, 

His  Majesty  replied  : 
"  Good  woman,  never  heed  them, 

The  Kini)  is  on  your  side ; 
Your  cottage  is  your  castle, 

And  here  you  shall  abide. 


"  To  raze  it  in  a  moment, 
The  power  is  mine,  I  grant; 

My  absolute  dominion 
A  hundred  poets  chant; 


THE   YOUTH  AND   THE  NORTHWIND. 


109 


For  being  Khan  of  Persia, 
There 's  nothing  that  I  can't," 


(Twas  in  this  pleasant  fashion 
The  mighty  monarch  spoke; 

For  kings  have  merry  fancies 
Like  other  mortal  folk  : 

And  none  so  high  and  mighty 
But  loves  his  little  joke.) 

XIII. 

"  But  power  is  scarcely  worthy 

Of  honor  or  applause, 
That  in  its  domination 

Contemns  the  widow's  cause, 
Or  perpetrates  injustice 

J3y  trampling  on  the  laws. 

XIV. 

"  That  I  have  wronged  the  meanest 
No  honest  tonjrue  may  say  : 

So  bide  you  in  your  cottage, 
Good  woman,  while  you  may; 

What 's  yours  by  deed'and  purchase 
No  man  mav  take  awav. 


"  And  I  will  build  beside  it, 
For  though  your  cot  may  be 

In  such  a  lordly  presence 
No  fitting  thing  to  see, 

If  it  honor  not  my  castle, 
It  will  surely  honor  me  ! 


"  For  so  my  loyal  people, 
Who  gaze  upon  the  sight. 

Shall  know  that  in  oppression 
I  do  not  take  delight ; 

Nor  hold  a  king's  convenience 
Before  a  subject's  right." 

XVII. 

Now  from  his  spoken  purpose 
The  king  departed  not ; 

He  built  the  royal  dwelling 
Upon  the  chosen  spot, 

And  there  they  stood  together,  — 
The  palace  and  the  cot. 

XVIII. 

Sure  such  unseemly  neighbors 
Were  never  seen  before ; 

"  His  Majesty  is  doting," 
His  silly  courtiers  swore  ; 

But  all  true  loyal  subjects, 
They  loved  the  king  the  more. 


Long,  long  he  ruled  his  kingdom 

In  honor  and  renown  ; 
But  danger  ever  threatens 

The  head  that  wears  a  crown, 
And  Fortune,  tired  of  smiling, 

For  once  put  on  a  frown. 


For  ever  secret  Envy 
Attends  a  high  estate ; 

And  ever  lurking  Malice 
Pursues  the  good  and  great ; 

And  ever  base  Ambition 
Will  end  in  deadlv  Hate. 


And  so  two  wicked  courtiers, 
Who  long  had  strove  in  vain, 

By  craft  and  evil  counsels, 
To  mar  the  monarch's  reign, 

Contrived  a  scheme  infernal 
Whereby  he  should  be  slain. 


But  as  all  deeds  of  darkness 
Are  wont  to  leave  a  clew 

Before  the  glaring  sunlight 
To  bring  the  knaves  to  view, 

That  sin  may  be  rewarded, 
And  Satan  get  his  due,  — 


To  plan  their  wicked  treason, 
They  sought  a  lonely  spot 

Behind  the  royal  palace, 
Hard  by  the  widow's  cot, 

Who  heard  their  machinations, 
And  straight  revealed  the  plot! 


"  I  see,"  exclaimed  the  Persian, 
"  The  just  are  wise  alone ; 

Who  spares  the  rights  of  others 
May  chance  to  guard  his  own ; 

The  widow's  humble  cottage 
Has  propped  a  monarch's  throne ! ' 


THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTH 
WIND. 


A   TALE   OP   NORWAY. 

ONCE  on  a  time  —  't  was  long  ago  — • 
There  lived  a  worthy  dame 


110 


THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTH  WIND. 


Who  sent  her  son  to  fetch  some  flour, 
For  she  was  old  and  lame. 

But  while  he  loitered  on  the  road, 
The  Northwind  chanced  to  stray 

Across  the  careless  youuker's  path, 
And  stole  the  flour  away. 

"  Alas !  what  shall  we  do  for  bread  1 " 
Exclaimed  the  weeping  lad  ; 

"  The  flour  is  gone,  —  the  flour  is  gone,— 
And  it  was  all  we  had !  " 

And  so  he   sought   the    Northwind's 
cave, 

Beside  the  distant  main  ; 
"  Good  Mister  Boreas,"  said  the  lad, 

"  I  want  my  flour  again. 

"  'T  was  all  we  had  to  live  upon,  — 

My  mother  old  and  I ; 
Oh  give  us  back  the  flour  again, 

Or  we  shall  surely  die !  " 

"  I  have  it  not,"  the  Northwind  growled ; 

"  But,  for  your  lack  of  bread, 
I  give  to  you"  this  table-cloth  ; 

'T  will  serve  you  well  instead ; 

"For  you  have  but  to  spread  it  out, 

And  every  costly  dish 
Will  straight  appear  at  your  command, 

Whatever  you  may  wish." 

The  lad  received  the  magic  cloth 

With  wonder  and  delight, 
And  thanked  the  donor  heartily, 

As  well,  indeed,  he  might. 

Returning  homeward,  at  an  inn 
Just  half  his  journey  through, 

He  fain  must  show  his  table-cloth, 
And  what  the  cloth  could  do. 

So  while  he  slept  the  knavish  host 

Went  slyly  to  his  bed, 
And   stole  the  cloth, —  but    shrewdly 
placed 

Another  in  its  stead. 

Unknowing  what  the  rogue  had  done, 

The  lad  went  on  his  way, 
And  came  unto  his  journey's  end 

Just  at  the  close  of  day. 

He  showed  the  dame  his  table-cloth, 
And  told  her  of  its  power; 


"  Good  sooth  ! "  he  cried,  "  't  was  well 

for  us 
The  Northwind  stole  the  flour." 

"  Perhaps,"    exclaimed     the    cautioui 
crone, 

"  The  story  may  be  true  ; 
'T  is  mighty  little  good,  I  ween, 

Your  table-cloth  can  do." 

And    now    the    younker    spread    it 
forth, 

And  tried  the  spell.     Alas ! 
'T  was  but  a  common  table-cloth, 

And  nothing  came  to  pass. 

Then  to  the  Northwind,  far  away, 
He  sped  with  might  and  main ; 

"  Your  table-cloth  is  good  for  naught; 
I  want  my  flour  again !  " 

"  I  have  it  not,"  the  Northwind  growled, 
"  But,  for  your  lack  of  bread, 

I  give  to  you  this  little  goat, 
'T  will  serve  you  well  instead  ; 

"  For  you  have  but  to  tell  him  this . 

'  Make  money,  Master  Bill ! ' 
And  he  will  give  you  golden  coins, 

As  many  as  you  will." 

The  lad  received  the  magic  goat 

With  wonder  and  delight, 
And  thanked  the  donor  heartily, 

As  well,  indeed,  he  might. 

Returning  homeward,  at  the  inn 
Just  half  his  journey  through, 

He  fain  must  show  his  little  goat, 
And  what  the  goat  could  do. 

So  while  he  slept  the  knavish  host 

Went  slyly  to  the  shed, 
And    stole    the    goat,  —  but  shrewdly 
placed 

Another  in  his  stead. 

Unknowing  what  the  rogue  had  done, 
The  youth  went  on  his  way, 

And  reached  his  weary  journey's  end 
Just  at  the  close  of  day. 

He  showed  the  dame  his  magic  goat, 

And  told  her  of  his  power ; 
"  Good  sooth  !  "  he  cried,  "  't  was  well 
for  us 

The  Northwind  stole  the  flour." 


THE  BLIND  MEN  AND  THE  ELEPHANT. 


Ill 


*  I  much  misdoubt,"  the  dame  replied, 
"  Your  woudrous  tale  is  true  ; 

T  is  little  good,  for  hungry  folk, 
Your  silly  goat  can  do  !  " 

"Good  Master  Bill,"  the  lad  exclaimed, 
"  Make  money  !  "  but,  alas ! 

'T  was  nothing  but  a  common  goat, 
And  nothing  came  to  pass. 

Then  to  the  Northwind,  angrily, 
He  sped  with  might  and  main ; 

"  Your  foolish  goat  is  good  for  naught ; 
I  want  my  flour  again !  " 

"  I  have  it  not, "  the  Northwind  growled, 
"  Nor  can  I  give  you  aught, 

Except  this  cudgel,  —  which,  indeed, 
A  magic  charm  has  got ; 

"  For  you  have  but  to  tell  it  this : 

'  My  cudgel,  hit  away  ! ' 
And,  till  you  bid  it  stop  again, 

The  cudgel  will  obey." 

Returning  home,  he  stopt  at  night 
Where  he  had  lodged  before; 

And  feigning  to  be  fast  asleep, 
He  soon  began  to  snore. 

And  when  the  host  would  steal  the 
staff, 

The  sleeper  muttered,  "  Stay, 
I  see  what  you  would  fain  be  at ; 

Good  cudgel,  hit  away  !  " 

The  cudgel  thumped  about  his  ears, 

Till  he  began  to  cry, 
"Oh  stop  the  staff,  for  mercy's  sake! 

Or  I  shall  surely  die!" 

But  still  the  cudirel  thumped  away 

Until  the  rascal  said, 
"I  '11  give  you  back  the  cloth  and  goat, 

Oh  spare  my  broken  head  !  " 

And  so  it  was  the  lad  reclaimed 

His  table-cloth  and  goat ; 
And,  growing  rich,  at  length  became 

A  man  of  famous  note  ; 

He  kept  his  mother  tenderly, 
And  cheered  her  waning  life ; 

And  married  —  as  you  may  suppose  — 
A  princess  for  a  wife ; 

And  while  he  lived  had  ever  near, 
To  favor  worthy  ends, 


A  cudgel  for  his  enemies, 
And  money  for  his  friends. 


THE  BLIND  MEN  AND  THE 
ELEPHANT. 


A    HINDOO    FABLE. 


IT  was  six  men  of  Indostan 
To  learning  much  inclined, 

Who  went  to  see  the  Elephant 
(Though  all  of  them  were  blind). 

That  each  by  observation 
Might  satisfy  his  mind. 


The  First  approached  the  Elephant, 

And  happening  to  fall 
Agaiust  his  broad  and  sturdy  side, 

At  once  began  to  bawl : 
"  God  bless  me !  but  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  wall !  " 


The  Second,  feeling  of  the  tusk, 
Cried,  "  Ho  !  what  have  we  here 

So  very  round  and  smooth  and  sharp  ' 
To  me  't  is  mighty  clear 

This  wonder  of  an  Elephant 
Is  very  like  a  spear !  " 

IV. 

The  Third  approached  the  animal, 

And  happening  to  take 
The  squirming  trunk  within  his  hands, 

Thus  boldly  up  and  spake  : 
"  I  see,"  quoth  he,  "  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  snake  !  " 


The  Fourth  reached  out  his  eager  hand, 

And  felt  about  the  knee. 
"  What  most  this  wondrous  beast  is  like 

Is  mi«rhty  plain,"  quoth  he  ; 
"  'T  is  clear  enough  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  tree ! " 

VI. 

The   Fifth,  who  chanced  to  touch  the 
ear. 

Said  :  "  E'en  the  blindest  man 
Can  tell  what  this  resembles  most ; 

Deny  the  fact  who  can, 
This  marvel  of  an  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  fan !  " 


112 


THE   TREASURE   OF   GOLD. 


The  Sixth  no  sooner  had  begun 
About  the  beast  to  grope, 

Than,  seizing  on  the  swinging  tail 
That  fell  within  his  scope, 

"  I  see,"  quoth  he,  "  the  Elephant 
Is  very  like  a  rope  !  " 


And  so  these  men  of  Indostan 

Disputed  loud  and  long, 
Each  in  his  own  opinion 

Exceeding  stiff  and  strong, 
Though  each  was  partly  in  the  right, 

And  all  were  in  the  wrong  ! 


So  oft  in  theologic  wars, 
The  disputants,  I  ween, 

Rail  on  in  utter  ignorance 
Of  what  each  other  mean, 

And  prate  about  an  Elephant 
Not  one  of  them  has  seen  ! 


THE  TREASURE  OF  GOLD. 


A    LEGEND   OF    ITALY. 


A  BEAUTIFUL  story,  my  darlings, 
Though  exceedingly  quaint  and  old, 

Is  a  tale  I  have  read  in  Italian, 
Entitled,  the  Treasure  of  Gold. 


There  lived  near  the  town  of  Bologna 
A  widow  of  virtuous  fame, 

Alone  with  her  only  daughter,  — 
Madonna  Lucrezia  by  name. 


A  lady  whom  changing  fortune 
Had  numbered  among  the  poor  ; 

And  she  kept  an  inn  by  the  wayside, 
For  the  use  of  peasant  and  boor. 


One  day  at  the  door  of  the  tavern 
Three  roving  banditti  appeared, 

And  one  was  a  wily  Venetian, 
To  guess  by  his  curious  beard. 


And  he  spoke  to  the  waiting  hostess 
In  phrases  exceedingly  fine, 

And  sat  himself  down  with  his  fellows, 
And  called  for  a  flagon  of  wine. 


At  length,  after  deeply  discoursing 
In  voices  suspiciously  low, 

The  travelers  rose  from  the  table, 
And  made  preparation  to  go. 


"Madonna,"  up  spoke  the  Venetian, 
"Pray  do  us  the  kiniluess  to  hold 

Awhile,  for  our  better  convenience, 
This  snug  little  treasure  of  gold." 


"  Indeed,"  said  the  smiling  Lucrezia, 
"  You  're  welcome  to  leave  it,  —  but 
stay; 

I  have  never  a  lock  in  my  hovel, 
And  the  bag  may  be  stolen  away. 

IX. 

"  Besides,"  said  the  woman,  "consider, 
There  's  no  one  the  fact  to  attest ; 

In  pledge  for  so  precious  a  treasure 
You   have  only  my  word,  at  thf 
best." 


"  In  faith !  "  said  the  civil  Venetian, 
"  We  have  n't  a  morsel  of  fear ; 

But  to  guard  against    awkward   mis- 
chances, 
Let  the  matter  in  writing  appear." 


And  this  was  a  part  of  the  writing 
She  gave  the  banditti  to  hold  : 

"  Not  to  one,  nor  to  two,  but  to  all 
Will  I  render  the  treasure  of  gold." 


Now  the  robbers  were  scarcely  departed 
When    the  cunning   Venetian   came 
back, 

With,  "  Madam,  allow  me  the  favor 
Of  putting  my  seal  to  the  sack." 


But  the  moment  she  gave  him  the  treas- 
ure, 
A  horseman  rode  up,  and  behold ! 


THE   TREASURE   OF   GOLD. 


113 


While  the  woman  went  out  to  attend 

him, 
The  villain  ran  off  with  the  gold ! 


"  Alas  !  "  cried  the  widow,  in  anguish, 
"  Alas  for  my  daughter  forlorn  ; 

I  would  we  had  perished  together, 
The  day  Giannetta  was  born !  " 


In  sooth,  she  had  reason  for  sorrow, 
Although  it  were  idle  to  weep; 

She  was  sued  in  the  court  of  Bologna 
For   the    mouey  she  promised    to 
keep. 


"  Now  go,  Giannetta,"  she  faltered, 
"  To  oue  that  is  versed  in  the  laws ; 

But  stop  at  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin, 
And  beg  her  to  favor  our  cause." 

XVII. 

Alas  for  Madonna  Lucrezia ! 

In  vain  Giannetta  applied 
To  each  lawyer  of  note  iu  the  city  ; 

They  were  all  on  the  opposite  side  ! 

XVIII. 

At  last,  as  the  sorrowing  maiden 
Sat  pondering  her  misery  over, 

And  breathing  a  prayer  to  the  Virgin, 
She  thought  of  Lorenzo,  her  lover  ; 


A  student  well  read  in  the  statutes, 
According  to  common  report, 

But  one  who,  from  mo.lest  aversion, 
Had  never  appeared  in  the  court. 


1 1  '11  try  !"  said  the  faithful  Lorenzo, 
After  hearing  her  narrative  through, 

'  And  for  strength  iu  the  hour  of  trial, 
I'll  thiuk,  Giannetta,  of  you  !  " 


Next  morning  the  judges  assembled  ; 

The  claimants'  attorneys  were  heard, 
And  giive  a  most  plausible  version 

Of  how  the  transact iou  occurred ; 

XXII. 

Then   showed,  by  the  widow's  confes- 
sion, 
She  had  taken  the  money  to  hold, 


And    proved    that,    though    often    re- 

quested, 
She  failed  to  surrender  the  gold. 


The  judges  seemed  fairly  impatient 

To  utter  the  fatal  decree, 
When,  lo  !  the  young  student  Lorenzo 

Stands  up,  and  commences  a  plea  :  — 

XXIV. 

"  Your  Honors  !    I  speak  for  the  widow  ; 

Some  words  have  been   (carelessly) 

said 
Concerning  a  written  agreement  ; 

I  ask  that  the  writing  be  read." 

xxv. 
"Of  course,"  said   the  Court,   "it   la 

proper 

The  writing  appear  in  the  case; 
The  sense  of  a  written  agreement 
May  give  it  a  different  face." 

XXVI. 

"  Observe,"  said  the  student,  "  the  bar- 
gain 

To  which  we  are  willing  to  hold,  — 
'  Not  to  one,  nor  to  two,  but  to  all, 

Will  I  render  the  treasure  of  gold.* 

XXVII. 

"  We  stand  by  the  writing,  your  Hon- 

ors, 

And  candidly  ask  of  you  whether 
These  fellows  can  sue  for  their  money 
Till   they   come  and   deiuaud   it   ta-- 
gether  ?  " 

XXTIII. 

And  so  it  was  presently  settled, 
For  so  did  the  judge's  decide  ; 

And  great  was  the  joy  of  ihe  willow, 
And  great  was  her  (laughter's  pride.. 

XXIX. 

And  fast  grew  the  fame  of  Lorenzo, 
For  making  so  <•!•  vi  r  a  plea, 

Till  never  in  all  Bologna 

Was  lawyer  so  wealthy  as  he. 

xxx. 

And  he  married  his  own  Giannetta, 
As  the  story  is  pleasingly  told  ; 

And  such  were  the  bane  and  the  bless* 

ing 
That  came  of  the  Treasure  of  Gold.  I. 


114 


THE  NOBLEMAN,  FISHERMAN,  AND  PORTER. 


THE  NOBLEMAN,  THE  FISHER- 
MAN, AND  THE  POUTER. 

AN    ITALIA1T    LEGEND. 


IT  was  a  famous  nobleman 
Who  flourished  in  the  East, 

Ami  once,  upon  a  holiday, 
He  made  a  goodly  feast, 

And  summoned  in  of  kith  and  kin 
A  hundred  at  the  least. 


Now  while  they  sat  in  social  chat 
Discoursing  frank  and  free, 

In  came  the  steward,  with  a  bow, 
"  A  man  below,"  said  he, 

"  Has  got,  my  lord,  the  finest  fish 
That  ever  awam  the  sea !  " 


"  Indeed !  "  exclaimed  the  nobleman, 

"  Then  buy  it  in  a  trice  ; 
The  finest  fish  that  ever  swain 

Must  needs  be  very  nice ; 
Go,  buy  it  of  the  fisherman, 

Aud  never  mind  the  price." 


"  And  so  I  would,"  the  steward  said, 
"  But,  faith,  he  would  n't  hear 

A  word  of  money  for  his  fish, 
(Was  ever  man  so  queer  ?) 

But  said  he  thought  a  hundred  stripea 
Could  not  be  counted  dear  I  " 


'  Go  bring  him  here,"  my  lord  replied  ; 

"  The  man  I  fain  would  see; 
A  merry  wag,  by  your  rejiort, 

Thi<  fisherman  must  be." 
"  Go  brins   him   here !  Go  bring  him 
here !  " 

Cried  all  the  company. 


The  steward  did  ft<  he  was  bid, 
When  thus  my  lord  began  : 

"  For  this  fine  fifth  what  may  yon  wish' 
I  '11  buy  ir,  if  lean." 

'One  hundred  lashes  on  my  back  !" 
Exclaimed  the  fisherman". 


"  Now,  by  the  Rood  !  but  this  is  good,' 
The  laughing  lord  replied; 


1  Well,  let  the  fellow  have  his  way  • 
Go,  call  a  groom  !  "  he  cried  ; 

But  let  the  payment  he  demands 
Be  modestly  applied." 


He  bared  his  back  and  took  the  lash 

As  it  were  merry  play  ; 
But  at  the  fiftieth  stroke,  he  said, 

"  Good  master  groom,  I  pray 
Desist  a  moment,  if  you  please  ; 

I  hare  a  word  to  say. 


"  I  have  a  partner  in  the  case,  — 
The  fellow  standing  there  ; 

Pray  take  the  jacket  off  his  back, 
A*nd  let  him  have  his  share  ; 

That  one  of  us  should  take  the  whole 
Were  surely  hardly  fair  !  " 

x. 

"  A  partner  ?  "  cried  the  nobleman, 
"  Who  can  the  fellow  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean,'1  replied  the  fisherman, 
With  countenance  serene, 

"  Your  Porter  there .'  the  biggest  knave 
That  ever  yet  was  seen. 


"  The  rogue  who  stopped  me  at  t 
gate, 

And  would  n't  let  me  in 
Until  I  swore  to  give  him  half 

Of  all  my  fish  should  win. 
/  've  c/ot  mi/  share  !  Pray  let,  my  lord, 

His  payment  now  begin  !  " 


"  What  you  propose,"  my  lord  replied, 
"  Is  nothing  more  than  fair  ; 

Here,    groom,  —  lay    on    a    hundred 

stripes, 
And  mind  you  do  not  spare. 

The  scurvy  dbg  shHl  never  say 
He  did  n't  get  his  share !  " 


Th^n  all  that  goodly  company 

They  laughed  with  might  and  main, 

The  w'hile  beneath  the  stinging  lash 
The  porter  writhed  in  pain. 

"  So  fare  all  villians,"  quoth  my  lord, 
"  Who  seek  dishonest  gain ! " 


Then,  turning  to  the  fisherman, 
Who  still  was  standing  near, 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS. 


115 


He  filled  his  hand  with  golden  coins, 
Some  twenty  sequins  clear, 

And  bade  him  come  and  take  the  like 
On  each  succeeding  year. 


THE  DERVI8  AND  THE  KING. 

A    TURKISH    TALE. 

A  PIOUS  Den-is,  once  upon  a  time, 
Of  all   his  sect  the  wisest  and  the 

best, 

Journeyed,  on  foot,  through  many  a  for- 
eign clime, 

To  serve  his  Master  in  some   holy 
quest. 

And  so  it  chanced  that  on  a  certain  day, 
While    plodding  wearily    along    the 

road, 
He  saw   before   him,   near  the   public 

way, 

The  house  wherein  the  Tartar  King 
abode. 

Musing  the  while  on   some  absorbing 

thought 

That  quite  engrossed  the   pious  pil- 
grim's mind, 
The  palace  seemed  — just  what  the  Der- 

vis  sought  — 
A  caravansary  of  the  better  kind. 

Entering  the  palace  by  an  open  door, 
Straight   to    the   gallery    the   Dervis 

goes, 
Lays  down  his  meagre  wallet  on  the 

floor, 

And  spreads  his  blanket  for  a  night's 
repose. 

It  chanced  the  King,  soon  after,  passing 

by, 
Observed  the  man,  and  with  an  angry 

air, 

As  one  who  sees  a  robber  or  a  spy, 
Bade  him  avow  what  business  brought 
him  there. 

fcMy  business  here,"  the  Dervis  meekly 

said, 

"Is    but    to    rest,    as   any    travelei 
might ; 


In  this  good  tavern    I  have  made  my 

bed, 

And   here   I   mean  to  tarry  for  the 
night." 

"  A  caravansary  —  eh  ?  "  the  King  ex- 
claimed 
(His  visage   mantling  with  a   royal 

£'•'")> 
"Now  look  around  you,  man,  and  be 

ashamed  ! 

How  could  you  take  my  palace  for  an 
inn  ?  " 

"  Sire,"  said  the  Dervis  (seeing  his  mis- 
take), 

"  I  purpose  presently  to  answer  this ; 
But    grant    me,    first,    the    liberty    to 

make 
Some  brief  inquiries,  if  't  is  not  amiss. 

"  Pray  tell  me,  Sire,  who  first  resided 

here  ? " 
"  My    ancestors,  —  as    the    tradition 

'goes." 
"  Who  next  ?  "    "  My  father,  —  that  is 

very  clear." 

"  Who  next  ?  "    "  Myself,  —  as  every- 
body knows  " 

"  And  who  —  Heaven  grant  you  many 


years  to  reign  !  — 


Will  occupy  the  h 
done?*' 


ouse  when  you  have 


"  Why,"  said  the  monarch,  "  that  is  very 

plain,  — 

Of  course  't  will  be  the  Prince,  my 
only  son ! " 

"  Sire,"   said  the  Dervis,  gravely,   "  I 

protest,  — 
Whate'er  the  building  vou  may  choose 

to  call,  — 
A  house  that  knows  so  many  a  transient 


Is  but  a  caravansary,  after  all !  " 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE 
MARQUIS. 


AN    ORIENTAL    LEGEND. 


IT  was  a  merry  monarch 
Who  ruled  a  distant  land. 


116 


THE  MONARCH  AN'j  THE  MARQUIS. 


And  ever,  for  his  pastime, 
Some  new  device  I  e  planned, 

And  once,  to  all  his  servants, 
He  gave  this  queer  command. 


Quoth  he :  "  To  everj  stranger 
Who  comes  unto  my  court 

Let  a  fried  fish  be  given, 
And  of  the  finest  sort ; 

Then  mark  the  man's  behavior, 
And  briug  me  due  report. 


"  If,  when  the  man  has  eaten 
The  fish  nnto  the  bone, 

The  glutton  turns  it  over,  — 
Then,  by  my  royal  throne, 

For  this,  liis  misdemeanor, 
The  gallows  shall  atone !  " 


Now  when  this  regal  mandate, 

According  to  report, 
Had  slain  a  score  of  strangers, 

To  serve  the  monarch's  sport, 
It  chanced  a  gay  young  Marquis 

Came  to  the  royal  court. 


His  Majesty  received  him 
As  suited  with  his  state, 

But  when  he  sat  at  dinner, 
The  fish  was  on  the  plate ; 

Alas  !  he  turns  it  over, 
Unconscious  of  his  fate 


Then,  to  his  dire  amazement, 

Three  guardsmen,  standing  nigh, 

Conveyed  him  straight  to  prison, 
And  plainly  told  him  why,  — 

And  how,  in  "retribution, 
That  he  was  doomed  to  die  ! 


The  Marquis,  filled  with  sorrow, 
Implored  the  monarch's  ruth, 

Whereat  the  King  relented 
(A  gracious  deed,  in  sooth  !) 

And  granted  these  conditions, 
In  pity  of  his  youth  :  — 


That  for  three  days  the  culprit 
Should  have  the  Kind's  reprieve; 

Also,  to  name  three  wishes 
The  prisoner  had  leave,  — - 


One  each  succeeding  morning,  — 
The  which  he  should  receive. 


"  Thanks  !  "  said  the  grateful  Marquis 

"  His  Majesty  is  kind  ; 
And,  first,  to  wed  his  daughter 

Is  what  I  have  in  mind  ; 
Go,  bid  him  fetch  a  parson 

The  holy  tie  to  bind." 


Now  when  the  merry  Monarch 
This  bold  demand  had  heard, 

With  grief  and  indignation 
His  royal  brenst  was  stirred  ; 

But  he  had  pledged  his  honor, 
And  so  he  kept  his  word. 


Now.  if  the  first  petition 
He  reckoned  rather  bold, 

What  was  the  King's  amazement 
To  hear  the  second  told,  — 

To  wit,  the  monarch's  treasure 
Of  silver  and  of  gold  ! 


To  beg  the  culprit's  mercy 
This  mighty  king  was  fain  ; 

But  pleading'and  remonstrance 
Were  uttered  all  in  vain  ; 

And  so  he  gave  the  treasure 
It  co-t  him  years  to  gain. 

XIII. 

Sure  ne'er  was  mortal  Monarch 

In  such  dismay  as  he  ! 
He  woke  next  niorning  early 

And  went  himself  to  see 
What,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 

The  third  demand  would  be. 

XIV. 

"  I  ask,"  replied  the  Marquis, 
"  (My  third  and  final  wish), 

That  you  should  call  the  servants 
Who  served  the  fatal  dish, 

And  have  the  eyes  extinguished 
That  saw  me  turn  the  i'ish." 


"  Good  !  "  said  the  monarch  gayly, 

With  obvious  delight. 
"  What  you  demand,  Sir  Marquis, 

Is  reasonable,  quite  ; 
That  they  should  pay  this  forfeit 

Is  nothing  more  than  right. 


THE   CALTPH  AND   THE   CRIPPLE. 


117 


"  How  was  it,  —  Mr.  Chamberlain  1 

But  he  at  once  deui«d 
That  he  had  seen  the  culprit 

Turn  up  the  other  side  ; 
"  It  must  have  been  the  Steward," 

The  Chamberlain  replied. 

XVII. 

"Indeed!  "  exclaimed  the  Steward, 

"It  surely  wasn't  I ! 
It  must  have  been  the  Butler  !  "  — 

Who  quickly  made  reply, 
"  It  must  have  been  the  guardsmen, 

Unless  the  fellows  lie  !  " 


But  they,  in  turn,  protested, 
With  plausible  surprise, 

(And  dreadful  imprecations, 
If  they  were  tell  ing  lies  !) 

That  nothing  of  the  matter 
Had  come  before  their  eyes. 

XIX. 

"  Good  father,"  said  the  Princess, 
"  I  pray  you  ponder  this  " 

(And  here  she  gave  the  monarch 
A  reverential  kiss), 

"  My  husband  must  be  guiltless, 
If  none  saw  aught  amiss  !  " 


The  monarch  frowned  a  little, 
And  gravely  shook  his  head  : 

"  Your  Marqu'is  should  be  punished  ; 
Well,  — let  him  live,"  lie  said, 

"  For  though  be  cheats  the  gallows, 
The  man,  at  least,  is  wed!  " 


THE    CALIPH   AND  THE    CRIP- 
PLE. 

AN   ARABIAN   TALE. 

THE  Ciiliph,  Ben  Akas,  whose  surname 

was  "  Wise," 

From   the  wisdom  and   wit  he  dis- 
played, 
One  morning  rode  forth  in  a  merchant's 

disguise 
To  see  how  his  laws  were  obeyed. 

While  riding  along,  in  a  leisurely  way, 
A  beggar  came  up  to  his  side, 


And  s;ud,  "  In  the  name  of  the  Prophet, 

I  pray 
You  'II  give  a  poor  cripple  a  ride." 

Ben  Akas,  amazed  at  the  mendicant's 

prayer, 

Asked  where  he  was  wishing  to  go. 
"  I'm  going,"  he  said,  "  to  the  neighbor- 
ing fair ; 

But    my    crutches    are    wretchedly 
slow." 

"  Get  up !  "  said  the  Caliph ;  "  a  saddle 

like  this 

Is  hardly  sufficient  for  two ; 
And  yet,  by   the   Prophet  !  —  't  were 

greatly  amiss 
To  snub  a  poor  cripple  like  you." 

The  beggar  got  up,  and  together  they 

rode 
Till  they  came  to   the    neighboring 

town, 
When,  hard   by  the   house  where  the 

Cadi  abode, 
He  bade  his  companion  get  down. 

"  Nay,   get   down    yourself! "   was   the 

fellow's  reply, 

Without  the  least  shame  or  remorse. 
"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  Caliph,  "  and  pray 

tell  me  why  ? " 

Quoth  the  beggar,  "  To  give  me  the 
horse  ! 

"  You  know  very  well  that  the  nag  is 
my  own ; 

And  if  you  resort  to  the  laws, 
You  do  not  imagine  your  story  alone 

Sufficient  to  carry  the  cause  ? 

"  The  Cadi   is  reckoned  the  wisest  of 

men, 

And,  looking  at  you  and  at  me, 
After  hearing  us  both,  't  is  a  hundred  to 

ten 
The  cripple  will  get  the  decree." 

"  Very    well  ! "    said    Ben    Akas,    as- 

tonishei  to  hear 
The  impudent  fellow's  discourse, 
"  If  the  Cadi  is  wise,  there  is  little  to 

fear 
But  1  soon  shall  recover  my  horse." 

"  Agreed  !  "  said  the  beggar ;  "  whate'er 

the  decree, 
The  verdict  shall  find  me  content." 


118 


THE  CALIPH  AND  THE  CRIPPLE. 


"As  to  that,"  snid  the  other,  "we  Ml 

presently  see." 
And  so  to  the  Cadi  they  went. 

It  chanced  that  a  cause  was  engrossing 

the  Cadi, 

Where  a  woman  occasioned  the  strife ; 
And  both  parties  claimed  the  identical 

lady 
As  being  his  own  lawful  wife. 

The  one  was  a  peasant ;  a  scholar  the 
other ; 

And  each  made  a  speech  in  his  turn ; 
But,  what  was  a  very  particular  pother, 

The  woman  refused  to  be  sworn. 

"  Enough  for  the  present !  "  the  Cadi 

declared, 

"  Come  back  in  the  morning,"  said  he ; 
"And  now"  (to  Ben  Akas)  "the  Court 

is  prepared 

To  hear   what  your  grievance  may 
be." 

Ben  Akas  no  sooner  the  truth  had  nar- 
rated 

When  the  beggar  as  coolly  replies : 
"  I  swear,  by  the  Prophet !  the  fellow 

has  stated 
A  parcel  of  impudent  lies  ! 

"  I  was  coming  to  market,  and  when  I 

descried 

A  man  by  the  wayside  alone, 
Looking  weary  and  faint,  why,  I  gave 

him  a  ride ; 

Now  he  swears  that  the  horse  is  his 
own  !  " 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Judge,  "let  us 

go  to  the  stable, 

And  each  shall  select  in  his  turn." 
Ben    Akas  went   first,   and   was  easilv 

able 
His  favorite  steed  to  discern. 

The    cripple  went    next;    though  the 

stable  was  full, 

The  true  one  was  instantly  shown. 
*  Your  Honor,"  said  he,  "  did  you  think 

me  so  dull 

That  I  could  n't    distinguish    my 
own  1 " 

Next  morning  the  Cadi  came  into  the 

court, 
And  sat  himself  down  at  his  ease ; 


And  thither  the  suitors  and  people  re- 

sort 
To  list  to  the  Judge's  decrees. 

First  calling  the  scholar,  who  sued  for 

his  spouse, 

His  Honor  thus  settled  the  doubt  : 
"  The  woman  is  yours  ;  take  her  home 

to  your  house, 
And  don't  let  her  often  go  out." 

Then    calling    before   him  Ben   Akas, 

whose  cause 

Stood  next  in  the  calendar's  course, 
He  said  :  "  By  the  Prophet's  inflexible 

laws, 
Let  the  merchant  recover  his  horse ! 

"  And  as  for  the  beggar,  I  further  de- 
cide 

His  villany  fairly  has  earned 
A  good  hundred  lashes  well  laid  on  his 

hide  ; 
Meshailali  !    The  court  is  adjourned." 

Ben  Akas  that  night  sought  the  Cadi's 

abode, 

And  said  :  "  'T  is  the  Caliph  you  see. 
Though  hither,  indeed,  as  a  merchant  I 

rode, 
I  am  Abou  Ben  Akas  to  thee." 

The  Cadi,  abashed,  made  the  lowest  of 

bows, 

And,  kissing  his  Majesty's  hand, 
Cried  :  "  Great  is  the  honor  you  do  to 

my  house ; 
I  wait  for  your  royal  command  ! " 

"  I  fain  would  possess,"  was  the  Caliph's 

reply, 

"  Your  wisdom  ;  so  to  teil  me,  I  pray, 
How  your  Honor  discovered  where  jus- 
tice might  lie 
In  the  causes  decided  to-day." 

"  Why,  as  to  the  woman,"  the  Cadi  re- 
plied.. 
"  It  was  easily  settled,  I  think  ; 


aside, 


st  taking  the  lady  a  moment  asic 
1  said,  '  Fill  my  standisli  with  in 


"  And  quick,  at  the  order,  the  bottle 

was  taken, 

With  a  dainty  and  dexterous  hold; 
The  standish  was  washed  ;  the  fluid  wai 

shaken ; 
New  cotton  put  in  for  the  old  "  — 


THE   UGLY  AUXT. 


119 


"I  sec!"  snid  the  Caliph;  "the  story 

is  pleasant ; 

Of  course  it  was  easy  to  tell 
The  scholar  swore  truly ;  the  spouse  of 

a  peasant 
Could  never  have  done  it  so  well. 

"  And  now   for  the   horse  ?  "     "  That 

was  harder,  I  own, 
For,  mark  you,  the  beggarly  elf 
(However  the  rascal  may  chauce  to  have 

known) 

Knew   the  palfrey  as  well  as  your- 
self. 

"  But  the  truth  was  apparent,  the  mo- 

nient  I  learned 

What  the  animal  thought  of  the  two; 
The    impudent    cripple    he    savagely 

spurned, 
But  was  plainly  delighted  with  you  !  " 

Ben     Akas     sat    musing     and     silent 

awhile, 

As  one  whom  devotion  employs ; 
Then,  raising  his  head  with  a  heavenly 

smile, 
He  snid,  in  a  reverent  voice  :  — 

"  Sure  Allah  is  good  and  abundant  in 

grace ! 

Thy  wisdom  is  greater  thnn  mine  ; 
I  would   that  the  Caliph  might  rule  in 

his  place 
As  well  as  thou  scrvest  in  thine  ! " 


THE  UGLY  AUNT.s 

A    NORWEGIAN     TALE. 


IT  was  a  liitle  maiden 

Lived  long  and  long  ago 
/Though    when   it  was,   and   where  ic 
was, 

I  'm  sure  I  do  not  know), 
And  her  f;ice  was  all  the  fortune 

This  maiden  had  to  show. 


And  yet  —  what  many  people 
Will  think  extremely  rare 

In  one  who,  like  this  maiden, 
Ne'er  knew  a  mother's  care  — 


The  neighbors  all  asserted 
That  she  was  good  as  fair. 


"  Alack  ! "  exclaimed  the  damsel, 
While  bitter  tears  she  shed, 

"  I  'm  little  skilled  to  labor, 
And  yet  I  must  be  fed; 

I  fain  by  daily  service 

Would  earn  my  daily  bread." 


And  so  she  sought  a  palace, 
Where  dwelt  a  mighty  queen, 

And  when  the  royal  lady 
The  little  maid'  had  seen, 

She  loved  her  for  her  beauty, 
Despite  her  lowly  mien. 


ng  she  served  her  Majesty 

Kre  jealousy  arose 
(Because  she  was  the  favorite, 

As  you  may  well  suppose), 
And  all  the  other  servants 

Became  her  bitter  foes. 


And  so  these  false  companions, 

In  envy  of  her  face. 
Contrived  a  wicked  stratagem 

To  bring  her  to  disgrace, 
And  fill  her  soul  with  sorrow, 

And  rob  her  of  her  place. 


They  told  her  royal  Majesty 
( Most  arrant  fiars  they  ! ) 

That  often,  in  their  gossiping, 
They  'd  heard  the  maiden  say 

That  she  could  spin  a  pound  of  fit 
All  in  a  single  day  ! 


"  Indeed !  "  exclaimed  her  Majesty, 
"I'm  fond  of  spinning,  too; 

So  2ome,  my  little  maiden, 
And  make  your  boasting  true : 

Or  else  your  foolish  vanity 
You  presently  may  rue ! " 


Alas !  the  hapless  dnmsel 
Was  now  afflicted  sore, 

No  mother  e'er  liad  taught  her 
In  such  ingenious  lore ; 

A  spinning-wheel,  in  all  her  life, 
She  ne'er  had  seen  before  1 


120 


THE   THREE   GIFTS. 


But  fearing  much  to  tell  the  queen 

How  she  had  been  belied, 
She  tried  to  spin  upon  the  wheel, 

And  still  in  vain  she  tried ; 
Aud   so  —  't  was   all   that  she  could 
do  — 

She  sat  her  down  and  cried. 


Now  while  she  thus  laments  her  fate 

In  sorrow  deep  and  wild, 
A  beldam  stands  before  her  view, 

An' I  says,  in  accents  mild  : 
"  What  ails  thee  now,  my  pretty  one, 

Say,  what '»  the  matter,  child  1 " 


Soon  as  she  heard  the  piteous  case, 
"Cheer  up!"  the  beldam  said, 

"  I  '11  spin  for  thee  the  pound  of  flax, 
And  tliou  sh:ilt  go  to  bed, 

If  only  thou  wilt  call  me  '  aunt,' 
The  day  that  thou  art  wed !  " 


The  maiden  promised  true  and  fair, 
And  when  the  day  was  done, 

The  queen  went  in  to  see  the  task, 
And  found  it  fairly  spun. 

Quoth  she,  "  I  love  thee  passing  well, 
And  thou  shall  wed  my  sou. 


"For  one  who  spins  so  well  as  thee 
(In  sooth  !  't  is  wondrous  fine !) 

With  beuuty,  too,  so  very  rare, 
And  goodness  such  as  thine, 

Should  l>e  the  daughter  of  a  queen, 
And  I  will  have  thee  mine  ! " 


Now  when  the  wedding-flay  had  come, 
And,  decked  in  royal  pride, 

Around  the  smoking  table  sat 
Tho  bridegroom  and  the  bride, 

With  all  the  royal  kinsfolk, 
And  many  guests  beside, 


In  came  a  beldam,  with  a  frisk ; 

Was  ever  dame  BO  bold  ? 
Or  one  ?o  lean  and  wrinkled, 

Fo  ugly  and  so  old, 
Or  with  a  nose  so  very  long 

And  shocking  to  beltold  f 


XVII. 

Now  while  they  sat  in  wonderment 

This  curious  dame  to  see, 
She  said  unto  the  Princess, 

As  bold  as  bold  could  be  : 
"  Good  morrow,  gentle  lady  ! " 

"  Good  morrow,  Aunt!"  quoth  she. 

XVIII. 

The  Prince  with  gay  demeanor, 

But  with  an  inward  groan, 
Then  bade  her  sit  at  table, 

And  said,  in  friendly  tone, 
"  If  you  're  mv  bride's  relation, 

Why,  then  you  are  my  own  !  " 

XIX. 

When  dinner  now  was  ended, 

As  you  may  well  suppose, 
The  Prince  still  thought  about  his^Lwnt 

And  still  his  wonder  rose 
Where  could  the  ugly  beldam 

Have  got  so  long  a  nose, 

xx. 

At  last  he  plainly  asked  her, 

Before  that  merry  throng, 
And  she  as  plainly  answered 

(Nor  deemed  his  freedom  wrong) : 
'"T  was  spinning,  in  my  girlhood, 

That  made  my  nose  so  long." 


"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  his  Highness, 
And  then  and  there  he  swore : 

"  Though  spinning  made  me  husband 
To  her  whom  I  adore, 

Lest  she  should  spoil  her  beauty, 
Why,  she  shall  spin  no  more  ! " 


THE  THREE   GIFTS. 

A    TALE    OF   NORTH    GERMANY. 

THREE  gentlemen  mounted  their  horse* 

one  day, 

And  far  in  the  country  they  rode, 
Till  they  came  to  a  cottage,  that  stood  \)j 

the  way, 
Where  an  honest  old  weaver  abode. 

This  honest  old  weaver  was  wretched!/ 

poor, 
Yet  he  never  was  surly  or  sad ; 


THE  THREE   GIFTS. 


121 


He   welcomed    the    travelers    into    his 

door, 
And  gave  them  the  best  that  he  had. 

They  ate  and  they  drank,  till  the  weaver 

began 

To  fear  that  they  never  would  cease; 
But  wheu  they  had  finished,  they  gave 

to  the  man 
A  hundred  gold  guineas  apiece. 

Then    the    gentlemen    mounted    their 

horses  again, 
And,    bidding     the    weaver    "  Good 

niirht." 
Went   dashing  away   over   valley  and 

plain, 
A:id  were  presently  lost  to  his  sight. 

Sure    never  was  weaver  so   happy  be- 
fore, 

And  never  seemed  guineas  so  bright ; 
lie  conn  led  the  pieces  a  hundred  times 

o'er, 
With  more  than  a  miser's  delight. 

Then  snug  in  some  rags  he  bid  them 

away, 

As  if  he  had  got  them  by  stealth, 
Lest  his  medd'e-ome  wife,  who  was  ab- 
sent that  day, 
Should  know  of  his  wonderful  wealth. 

Soon  after,  a  traveling  rag-dealer  came, 
The  rags  in  the  bundle  were  sold, 

And  with  them  (the  woman  was  little  to 

blame) 
The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold. 

When  a  calendar  year  had  vanished  and 

fled, 

The  gentlemen  came  as  before. 
"Now  how  does  it  happen,"  they  mood- 
ily said, 
"  We  find  you  so  wretchedly  poor  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  weaver,  "  this  many  a 
day 

The  money  is  missing,  in  sooth  ; 
In  a  bundle  of  rags  it  was  hidden  away, 

('Fore  God  !  I  am  telling  the  truth.) 

"  But  once,  in  my  absence,  a  rag-dealer 

c;ime, 

The  rags  in  the  bundle  were  sold, 
And  with  them  (the  woman  was  surely 

to  blame) 
The  three  huudred  guineas  of  gold." 


"  It  was  foolishly  done,"  the  gentlemen 

swore ; 

"  Now,  prithee,  be  careful  of  these." 
And  they  gave  him  again,  the  same  as 

before, 
A  hundred  gold  guineas  apiece. 

Then    the    gentlemen    mounted    their 

horses  again, 
And,    bidding    the    weaver    "  Good 

night," 
Went   dashing   away   over  valley   and 

plain, 

And    were    presently    lost    to    his 
sight. 

"  1'  faith,"  said  the  weaver,  "  no  wondor 

they  chid  ; 

But  now  I  am  wiser,  I  trnst." 
So  the  three  hundred  guineas  he  care- 
fully hid 
Far  down  in  a  barrel  of  dust. 

But  soon,  in  his  absence,  a  dust-man 

came, 

The  dust  in  the  barrel  was  sold ; 
And  with  it  (the  woman  was  little  to 

blame) 
The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold. 

When  a  calendar  vear  had  vanished  and 

fled, 

The  gentlemen  came  as  before. 
"  Now  how  does  it   happen,"  they  an- 
grily said, 
"  We  find  you  so  wretchedly  poor  ?  " 

"  Was  ever,"  he  cried,  "  so  luckless  a 

wight  ? 

As  surely  as  Heaven  is  just, 
The    money  I    hid   from    my   spouse's 

sight  _ 
Far  down  in  a  barrel  of  dust ; 

"  But  when  I  was  absent  the  dust-man 

came, 

The  dust  in  the  barrel  was  sold, 
And  with  it  (the  woman  was  surely  to 

blame) 
The  three  hundred  guineas  of  gold." 

"  Take  that  for  your  folly  !  "  the  gentle- 
men said  ; 

"  Was  ever  so  silly  a  wight  ?  " 
And  they  tossed  on  'the  table  a  lump  of 

lead, 

And    were    presently    out    of     his 
sight. 


322 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 


"'Tis  plain,"  said   the  weaver,  "they 

meant  to  flout, 

And  little  I  marvel ;  alas  !  — 
My  wife  is  a  fool ;   and   there  is  n't  a 

doubt 
That  I  am  an  arrant  ass !  " 

While  thus  he  was  musing  in  sorrow  and 
shame, 

And  wishing  that  he  were  dead, 
Into  his  cottage  a  fisherman  came 

To  horrow  a  lump  of  lead. 

"Ah!  here,"  he  cried,  "is  the  thing  I 
wish 

To  mend  my  broken  net ; 
Will  you  give 'it  me  for  the  finest  fish 

That  I  this  day  may  get  1 " 

"  With  nil  my  heart ! "  the  weaver  re- 
plies ; 

And  so  the  fisherman  brought 
That  niuht  a  fish  of  wondrous  size,  — 

The  finest  that  he  had  caught. 

He  opened  the  fish,  when  lo  and  be- 
hold ! 

He  found  a  precious  stone,  — 
A  diamond  large  as  the  lead  he  sold , 

And  bright  as  the  morning  sun  ! 

For  a  thousand  guineas  the  stone   he 
sold 

(It  was  worth  a  hundred  more) , 
And  never,  't  is  said,  in  bliss  or  gold, 

Was  weaver  so  rich  before. 

But    often  —  to    keep   her    eway,   no 

doubt. 

As  a  genuine  woman  must  — 
The   wife   would   say,   "  /  brought   it 

about 
By  selling  the  rags  and  dust  1 " 


THE  WIFE'S  REVENGF,. 

FROM    THE    SPANISH. 


"  ONCE  on  a  time  "  there  flourished  in 

Madrid 
A    pninter,    clever,    and    the  pet    of 

F.i  me, 

Don  Jose,  —  but  the  rest  wore,  better  hid  ; 
So  please  accept  the  simple  Christian 
name, 


Only,  to  keep  my  verse  from  being  pro 
sy, 

Pray  mind  your  Spanish,  and  pro- 
nounce it,  Hozy. 


Don  Jose',  —  who,  it  seems,  had  lately 

won 
Much  praise  and  cash,  —  to  crown  a 

lucky  week, 

Resolved  for  once  to  have  a  little  fun, 
To    ease    him   of  his    easel,  —  so    to 

•  speak ; 

And  so,  in  honor  of  his  limning  labors, 
He  gave  a  party  to  his  artist-neighbors. 


A  strange  affair ;  for  not  a  woman  came 
To  grace  the  table ;  e'en  the  painter's 

spouse, 

Donna  Casilda,  a  most  worthy  dame. 
Was,  rather  roughly,  told  to  quit  the 

house, 
And    go   and   gossip,  for  the   evening, 

down 
Among  her  cousins  in  the  lower  town. 


The  lady    went ;    but    presently  came 

back, 
For  mirth  or  mischief,   with   a  jo'ly 

cousin, 
And   sought   a  closet,  where  an  ample 

crack 
Revealed  the  revelers,  sitting  by  the 

dozen, 
Discussing    wine     and  —  Art  ?  —  No, 

"  women  folks !  " 
In  senseless  satire  and  indecent  jokes. 


"  Women  ?  "  said  Jose',  "  what  do  wom- 
en know 

Of  poetry  or  painting? "  ("  Hear  him 
talk ! " 

Whispered   the    list'ners.)    "When  did 

woman  show 
A  ray  of  genius  in  the  higher  walk 

Of  either  ?    No ;   to  them  the  gods  im- 
part 

Arts,  —  quite  enough,  —  but  deuce  a  bi» 
of  Art ! " 


("  Wretch  !  "  cried  the  ladies.)    "Yes," 

said  Jose,  "  take 

Awav  from  women  love-intrigues  and 
all 


THE    WIFE'S  REVEXGE. 


The   cheap  disguises   they  are  wont  to 


eap 
make 


To   hi<le    their  spots,  —  they'd   sing 

extremely  small  !  " 
("  Fool  !  "  said  his  spouse,  "we  '11  set- 

tle, by  and  by, 
Who  sings  the  smallest,  villain,  —  you 

or  I  !  ") 


To  make  the  matter  worse,  the  jovial 

guests 
Were  duly  mindful  not  to  be  exceeded 

In  coarse  allusions  and  unsavory  jests, 
But  —  following     Jose'— talked,     of 
course,  as  he  did  ; 

I  've  been,  myself,  to  many  a  bachelor- 
party, 

And   found   them,  mainly,  less  refined 
than  heartv. 


The  party  over,  full  of  inward  ire, 

Casilda  plotted,  silently  and  lon<r, 
Some  fitting  vengeance.    Women  seldom 

tire 
In  their  resentments,  whether  right  or 

wrong  : 

In  classic  authors  we  are  often  warned 
There  's  nought  so  savage  as  a  woman 
Bcorued." 


Besides,  Casilda,  be  it  known,  had  much 
Of   what   the  French  applaud  —  and 

not  amiss  — 
As    savlr  fnire  (I    do    not     know    the 

Dutch)  ; 

The  litenl  Germans  call  it  Mutterwiss, 
The    Yankees   gumption,  and    the    Gre- 
cians MOMS, — 
A  useful  thing  to  have  about  the  house. 


At  length  the  lady  hit  upon  a  plan 
Worthy  of   Hermes  for  its  deep  dis- 
guise ; 

She  got  a  carpenter,  —  a  trusty  man,  — 

To  make  a  door,  and  of  a  certain  size, 

With     curious    carvings    and    heraldic 

bands, 

And  bade  him  wait  her  ladyship's  com- 
mands. 


Then    falling  sick, —  as    gentle    ladies 

know 
The  ready  art,  unless  romances  lie,  — 


She  groaned  aloud,  and  bade  Bon  Jose  go, 
And  quickly,  too,  —  or  she  should 
surely  die, — 

And  fetch  her  nurse,  —  a  woman  who 
abode 

Some  three  miles  distant  by  the  near- 
est road. 

XII. 

With  many  a  frown  and  many  a  bitter 

curse 

He    heard  the    summons.     'Twas  a 
pretty  hour, 

He  said,  to  go  a-gadding  for  a  nurse  ! 
At  twelve  at  night !  —  and  in  a  drench- 
ing shower ! 

He  'd  never  go,  —  unless  the  devil 
sent,  — 

And  then  Don  Jose  took  his  hat  and 
went! 


A  long,  long  hour  he  paced  the  di;iy 

street 

Where  dwelt  the  nurse,  hut  could  n'k 
find  the  place ; 

For  he  had  lost  the  number:  and  his 

feet, 

Though  clad  in  leather,  made  a  boot- 
less chase  ; 

He  fain  had  questioned  some  one ;  all 
in  vain, — 

The   very  thieves   were  fearful   of  the 
rain! 


Returning  homeward  from   his  wear/ 

tramp, 

He  reached  his  house, — or  where  his 
house  should  be ; 

When,  by  the  glimmer  of  the   entry- 
lamp, 

Don  Jose'  saw  —  and  marveled  much 
to  see  — 

An  ancient,  strange,  and  most  fantastic 
door, 

The  like  whereof  he  'd  never  seen   be- 
fore ! 


Cried1 


"  Now,  by  Our  Lady !  this  is   mighty 
jueer !  " 

Jose',    staring   at  the    graven 
wood, 
I  know   my  dwelling  stands  exactly 

here; 

At  least,  I  'm  certain  here  is  where  it 
stood 


124 


THE  DERVIS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES. 


Two  hours  ago,  when  (here  he  gave  a 

curse) 
Doiina  Casilda  sent  me  for  the  nurse. 


"  I  know  the  houses  upon  either  side ; 
There  stands  the  dwelling  of  the  un- 
dertaker; 
Here  mv  good  friend  Morena  lived  and 

died; 
And  here  's  the  shop  of  old  Trappal, 

the  baki-r ; 

And  yet,  as  sure  as  iron  is  n't  hrass, 
'  Tis  not  my  door,  or  I  'm  a  precious  ass ! 


"  However,  I  will  knock  " ;  and  so  he  did, 
And  called,  "  Casilda !  "  loud  euough 
to  rouse 

The  very  dullest  watchman  in  Madrid  ; 
But  woke,  instead,  the  porter  of  the 
house, 

Who  rudelv  asked  him,  where  he  got 
his  beer  ? 

And  bade  him.  "  Go  !  —  there 's  no  Cas- 
ilda here !  " 


Don  Jose  crossed  himself  in  dire  dismay, 
Lest  he  had  lost   his  reason,  or  his 

sight ; 

Atleast  'twas  certain  he  hnd  lost  his  way ; 
And,  hoping  sleep  might  set  the  mat- 
ter right. 
He  sought  and  found  the  dwelling  of  a 

friend 

Who  lived  in  town,  —  quite  at  the  other 
end. 


Next  morning  Jose",  rising  with  the  sun, 
Returned,  once  more,  to  seek  the  mi<s- 

inir  house : 

And  there  it  stood,  as  it  had  always  done, 
And  there  stood  also   his   indignant 

spouse 

With  half  her  city  cousins  at  her  back, 
Waiting  to  put  poor  Jose*  on  the  rack. 


"  A  charming  husband,  I/OH  !  "  the  dame 

began, 
"  To  l<-ave  vour  spouse  in  peril  of  her 

life, 
For  tavern  revelers !     You  're  a  pretty 

man, 

Thus  to  desert  your  lawful,  wedded 
wife, 


And   spend   your   nights — O   villain! 

—  don't  exji'ain, 
I'll  be   revenged  if    there    is    law    in 

Spain  ! " 


"  Nay,  Madam,  hear  me !  — just  a  single 

word  "  — 

And  then  he  told  her  of  his  fruitless 
search 

To  find  the  beldam;  and  of  what  oc- 
curred, — 

How  his  own  house  had  left  him  in  the 
lurch  ! 

Here  such  a  stream  of  scorn  came  pour- 
ing in, 

Don  Jose's  voice  was  smothered  in  the 
din. 


"  Nay,"  said  Casilda,  "  that  will  never 

do; 
Your  own  confession  plainly  puts  you 

down ! 
Say  yon  were  tipsy   (it  were  nothing 


new), 

And     spent     the     ni 
through  the  town 


it     carousing 


With   other   toners ;    that   may    be   re- 
ceived ; 

But,  faith!  i/o>< 
lieved ! " 


tale  will  never  be  be- 


Crazed  with  the  clamor  of  the   noisy 

crew 
All    singing    chorus   to  the   injured 

dame, 
Say,  what  the  deuce  could   poor  Don 

Jose  do 7  — 
He  prayed  for  pardon,  and  confessed 

his"  shame ; 

And  gave  no  dinnprs,  in  his  future  life, 
Without  remembering  to  invite  his  wife ! 


THE    DERVIS     AND     HIS    ENE- 
MIES. 


A   TURKISH    LEGEND. 


NEAR  Babylon,  in  ancient  times, 

There  dwelt  a  humble,  pious  Dervis, 
Who  lived  on  alms,  and  spent  his  days 
In  exhortation,  prayer,  and  praise,  — 
Devoted  to  the  Prophet's  sen-ice. 


THE  DERV7S  AND  HfS  ENEMIES. 


125 


To  him,  one  day,  a  neighbor  sent 
A  gift  extremely  rare  and  pleasant,  — 

A  fatted  ox  of  goodly  size; 

Whereat  the  grateful  Dervis  cries, 
"  Allah  be  praised  for  this  fine  pres- 
ent ! " 


So  large  a  gift  were  hard  to  hide ; 

Nor  was  he  careful  to  conceal  it ; 
Indeed,  a  thief  had  chanced  to  spy 
The  ox  as  he  was  passing  by, 

And  so  resolved  to  go  and  steal  it. 


Now  while  he  sought,  with  this  intent, 

The  osvner's  humble  habitation, 
He  met  a  stranger  near  the  place, 
Who  seemed,  to  judge  him  by  his  face, 
A  person  cvf  his  own  vocation. 


And  so  the  thief,  as  one  who  knew 

What  to  a  brother-rogue  was  owing, 
Politely  bade  the  man  "  Good  day." 
And  asked  him,  in  a  friendly  way, 
His  name,  and  whither  he  was  go- 
ing. 


The  stranger  bowed,  and  gruffly  said  : 

"  My  name  is  Satan,  at  vour  service  ! 
And  I  am  going,  Sir,  to  kill 
A  man  who  lives  near  yonder  hill, — 
A  fellow  called  the  '  Holy  Dervis.' 


"I  hate  him  as  a  mortal  foo  ; 

For,  spite  of  me  and  Nature's  bias, 
There  's  scarce  a  knave  in  all  these  parts 
But  this  vile  Dervis,  by  his  arts, 

Has  made  him   honest,   chaste,   and 
pious !  " 


u  Sir,  I  am  yours ! "  the  thief  replied ; 

"  I  scorn  to  live  by  honest  labor ; 
And  even  now  I  m  on  my  way 
To  steal  an  ox  received  to-day 

By  this  same   Dervis  from  a   neigh- 
bor." 


'  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  fiend, 
"  You    seem,     indeed,    a    younge* 
brother; 


And,  fiiith  !  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
It  certainly  were  much  amiss 

If  we  should  fail  to  aid  each  other ! " 


While  thus  discoursing,  sooth  to  say, 

Each  knave  had  formed  the  resolution 
(Lest  aught  occur  to  mar  his  plan) 
To  be  himself  the  foremost  man 
To  put  his  scheme  in  execution. 


"  For,"  said  the  thief  unto  himself, 

"  Before  his  work  is  half  completed, 
The  Dervis,  murdered  where  he  lies, 
Will  rouse  the  neighbors  with  his  cries, 
And  so  my  plan  will  be  defeated !  " 


"  If  he  goes  first,"  the  other  thought, 

"  His  cursed  ox  may  chance  to  bellow; 
Or  else,  in  breaking  through  the  door, 
He  '11  wake  the  Dervis  with  the  roar, 
And  I  shall  fail  to  kill  the  fellow  !  " 


So  when    they  reached    the   hermit's 
house, 

The  devil  whispered,  quite  demurely, 
"  While  I  go  in,  you  stand  without ; 
My  job  dispatched,  we  '11  go  about 

The  other  business  more  securely." 

XIV. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  robber,  "  I  protest 

I  don't  at  all  approve  the  measure  ;• 
This  seems  to  me  the  better  plan  : 
Just  wait  till  I  have  robbed  the  man, 
Then  you  may  kill  him  at  your  lei- 
sure." 

xv. 

Now  when,  at  last,  they  both  refused 
To  yield  the  point  in  controversy, 
To  such  a  height  the  quarrel  rose, 
From  words  and  threats  they  came  to, 

blows, 
And  beat  each  other  without  mercy !: 


Perceiving  that  the  devil's  strokes 
Surpassed   his   own    in   weight  and 

number. 

The  thief,  before  he  took  to  flight, 
Crird,   "Murder!   help!"  with  all  hi* 

might, 

And    roused   the  Dervis  from   bis 
slumber. 


126 


RAMPSINITUS  AND   THE  ROBBERS. 


"  Thieves !  thieves  ! "  cried  Satan,  going 
off 

(To  figure  at  some  tavern-revel). 
And  so  by  this  fraternal  strife 
The  Dervis  saved  his  ox  and  life, 

Despite  the  robber  and  the  devil ! 


RAMPSINITUS  AND  THE    ROB- 
BERS. 


AN    EGYPTIAN    TALE. 

IN  charming  old  Herodotus, 

If  you  were  college-bred, 
The  Tale  of  Rampsinitus 

You  may,  perchance,  have  read ; 
If  not,  't  is"  little  matter,  — 

You  may  read  it  here  instead. 

This  Rampsinitus  was  a  king 

Who  lived  in  days  of  old, 
And.  finding  that  his  treasury 

Was  quite  too  small  to  hold 
His  jewels  and  his  money-bags 

Of  silver  and  of  gold, 

He  built  a  secret  chamber, 

With  this  intent  alone 
(That  is,  he  got  an  architect 

And  caused  it  to  be  done), 
A  most  substantial  structure 

Of  mortar  and  of  stone. 

A  very  solid  building 

It  appeared  to  every  eye, 
Except  the  master-mason's, 

Who  plainly  could  espy 
One  stone  that  fitted  loosely 

When  the  masonry  was  dry. 

A  dozen  years  had  vanished, 
When,  in  the  common  way, 

The  architect  was  summoned 
His  final  debt  to  pay  ; 

And  thus  unto  his  children 
The  dying  man  did  say  :  — 

"  Come  hither  now,  my  darling  sons, 
Come,  list  my  children  twain, 

I  have  a  little  secret 
I  am  going  to  explain ; 

'T  is  a  comfort,  now  I  'm  dving, 
That  I  haven't  lived  in  vain." 


And  then  he  plainly  told  them 
Of  the  trick  that' he  had  done; 

How  in  the  royal  chamber 

He  had  put  a  sliding  stone,  — 

"  You  '11  fiud  it  near  the  bottom, 
On  the  side  that 's  next  the  sun, 

"  Now  I  feel  that  I  am  going ; 

Swift  ehl>s  the  vital  tide ; 
No  longer  in  this  wicked  world 

My  spirit  may  abide." 
And  so  this  worthy  gentleman 

Turned  up  his  toes  and  died. 

It  was  n't  long  before  the  sons 

Improved  the  father's  hint, 
And  searched  the  secret  chamber 

To  discover  what  was  in  't ; 
And  found,  by  self-promotion, 

They  were  "  Masters  of  the  Mint!" 

At  length  King  Rampsinitus 
Perceived,  as  well  he  might, 

His  caskets  and  his  money  bags 
Were  getting  rather  lig'ht ; 

"  And  yet,"  quoth  he, "  my  bolts  and  ban 
Are  all  exactly  right ! 

"  I  wonder  how  the  cunning  dog 

Has  managed  to  get  in  ; 
However,  it  is  clear  enough, 

I  'm  losing  lots  of  tin  ; 
I  '11  try  the  virtue  of  a  trap 

Before  the  largest  bin ! " 

In  came  the  thief  that  very  night, 

And  soon  the  other  chap, 
Who  waited  at  the  opening, 

On  hearing  something  snap, 
Went  in  and  found  his  brother 

A-sitting  in  the  trap. 

"  Yon  see  me  in  a  prettv  fix  ! " 

The  gallant  fellow  sa'id  ; 
"'T  is  better,  now,  that  one  should  die 

Than  both  of  us  be  dead. 
Lest  two  should  be  detected. 

Cut  off  my  foolish  head  ! " 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  other, 
"  Such  a  cut  were  hardly  kind, 

And  to  obey  your  order, 
I  am  truly  disinclined  ; 

But,  as  you  're  the  elder  brother, 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  mind." 

So,  with  his  iron  hanger 
He  severed,  at  a  slap, 


RAMPSINITUS  AND   THE  ROBBERS. 


127 


The  noddle  of  the  victim, 

Which  he  carried  through  the  gap, 
And  left  the  bleeding  body 

A-sittiug  in  the  trap. 

His  Majesty's  amazement 

Of  course  was  very  great, 
On  entering  the  chamber 

That  held  his  cash  and  plate, 
To  find  the  robber's  body 

Without  a  bit  of  pate ! 

To  solve  the  mighty  mystery 
Was  now  his  whole  intent; 

And  everywhere,  to  find  the  head, 
His  officers  were  sent ; 

But  every  man  came  back  again 
No  wiser  than  he  went. 

At  last  he  set  a  dozen  men 

The  mystery  to  trace ; 
And  bade  them  watch  the  body 

In  a  very  public  place, 
And  note  what  signs  of  sorrow 

They  might  see  in  any  face. 

The  robber,  guessing  what  it  meant, 

Was  naturally  shy ; 
And,  though  he  mingled  in  the  crowd, 

Took  care  to  ''  mind  his  eye," 
For  fear  his  brother's  body-guard 

His  sorrow  should  espy. 

"  I  '11  cheat  'em  yet ! "  the  fellow  said  : 

And  so  that  very  night, 
He  planned  a  cunning  stratagem 

To  get  the  soldiers  "  tight  " ; 
And  steal  away  his  brother's  trunk 

Before  the  morning  light. 

He  got  a  dozen  asses, 

And  put  upon  their  backs 
As  many  loads  as  donkeys 

Of  wine  in  leather  sacks; 
Then  set  the  bags  a-leaking 

From  a  dozen  little  cracks. 

Then  goinsr  where  the  soldiers 
Were  keeping  watch  and  ward, 

The  fellows  saw  the  leaking  wine 
With  covetous  regard, 

And  straightway  fell  a-drinking, 
And  drank  extremely  hard. 

The  owner  stormed  and  scolded 

With  well-affected  spunk, 
But  srill  they  kept  a-drinking 

Till  all  of  them  were  drunk ; 


And  so  it  was  the  robber 

Stole  off  his  brother's  trunk ! 

Now  when  King  Rampsinitus 

Had  heard  the  latest  news, 
'T  is  said  his  royal  Majesty 

Expressed  his  royal  views 
In  language  such  as  gentlemen 

Are  seldom  known  to  use. 

Now  when  a  year  had  vanished, 

He  formed  another  plan 
To  catch  the  chap  who  'd  stolen 

The  mutilated  man ; 
And  summoning  the  Princess, 

His  Majesty  began  :  — 

"  My  daughter,  hold  a  masquerade, 

And  offer  —  as  in  fun  — 
Five  kisses  (in  your  chamber) 

To  every  mother's  son 
Who  '11  tell  the  shrewdest  mischief 

That  he  has  ever  done." 

"  If  you  chance  to  find  the  robber 
By  the  trick  that  I  have  planned, 

Remember,  on  the  instant, 
To  seize  him  by  the  hand, 

Then  await  such  further  orders 
As  your  father  may  command." 

The  Princess  made  the  party, 

Without  the  least  dissent. 
'T  was  a  general  invitation, 

And  everybody  went,  — 
The  robber  with  the  others, 

Though  he  guessed  the  king's  intent 

Now  when  the  cunning  robber 
Was  questioned,  like  the  rest, 

He  said  :  "  Your  Royal  Highness, 
I  solemnly  protest 

Of  all  my  subtle  rogueries, 
I  scarce  know  which  is  best ; 

"  But  I  venture  the  opinion, 

'T  was  a  rather  pretty  job, 
When,  having  with  my  hanger 

Cut  off  my  brother's  nob, 
I  managed  from  the  soldiers 

His  headless  trunk  to  rob  ! " 

And  now  the  frightened  Princess 

Gave  a  very  heavy  groan, 
For,  to  her  consternation, 

The  cunning  thief  had  flown, 
And  left  the  hand  she  grappled 

Still  lying  in  her  own  ! 


128 


POOR  TARTAR. 


(For  he  a  hand  had  borrowed, 

'T  is  needful  to  be  said, 
From  the  body  of  a  gentleman 

That  recently  was  dead, 
And  that  he  gave  the -Princess 

The  moment  that  he  fled  !; 

Then  good  King  Rampsinitus 

Incontinently  swore 
That  this  paragon  of  robbers 

He  would  persecute  no  more 
For  such  a  clever  rascal 

Had  never  lived  before  ! 

And  in  that  goodly  company, 

His  Majesty  declared 
That  if  the  thief  would  show  himself 

His  person  should  bu  spared, 
And  with  his  only  daughter 

In  marriage  should  be  paired  ! 

And  when  King  Ramp>initns 

Had  run  his  mortal  lease, 
He  left  them  in  his  testament 

Just  half  a  crown  apiece ; 
May  every  modest  merit 

Thus  nourish  and  increase  ! 


POOR  TARTAR. 


A    HUNGARIAN    LEGEND. 


THERE  's   trouble    in    Hungary,  now, 

alas! 
There  's  trouble  on  every  hand  ! 

For  that  terrible  man, 

The  Tartar  Khan, 
Is  ravaging  over  the  land  ! 


He  is  riding  forth  with  his  ugly  men, 
To  rob  and  ravish  and  slay ; 

For  deeds  like  those, 

You  may  well  suppose, 
Are  quite  in  the  Tartar-way. 


And  now  he  comes,  that  terrible  chief, 
To  a  mansion  grand  and  old  ; 

And  he  peers  about 

Within  and  without, 
And  what  do  his  eyes  behold  ? 


A  thousand  cattle  in  fold  and  field, 
And  sheep  all  ov.-r  the  plain ; 


And  noble  steeds 
Of  rarest  breeds, 
And  beautiful  crops  of  grain. 


But  finer  still  is  the  hoarded  wealth 
That  his  ravished  eyes  behold; 

In  silver  plate 

Of  wondrous  weight, 
And  jewels  of  pearl  and  gold ! 


A  nobleman  owns  this  fine  estate ; 
And  when  the  robber  he  sees, 

'T  is  not  very  queer 

He  quakes  w'ith  fear, 
And  trembles  a  bit  in  the  knees. 


He  quakes  in  fear  of  his  precious  life, 
And,  scarce  suppressing  a  groan, 

"  Good  Tartar,"  says  he, 

"  Whatever  you  see 
Be  pleased  to  reckon  your  own  !  " 


The  Khan  looked  round  in  a  leisurely 

way 
As  one  who  is  puzzled  to  choose  ; 

When,  cocking  his  ear, 

He  chanced  to  hear 
The  creak  of  feminine  shoes. 


The  Tartar  smiled  a  villainous  smile, 
When,  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

A  lady  fair 

With  golden  hair 
Came  gliding  into  the  room. 


The  robber  stared  with  amorous  eyes; 
Was  ever  so  winning  a  face  ? 

And  long  he  gazed 

As  one  amazed 
To  see  such  beauty  and  grace. 


A  moment  more,  and  the  lawless  man 
Had  seized  his  -struggling  prey, 

Without  remorse, 

And  taking  horse 
He  bore  the  lady  away. 


1  Now  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  the  noble 

man  cried, 
'  For  manv  a  mercv  to  me  ! 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES. 


129 


I  bow  me  still 
Unto  his  will,  — 
God  pity  the  Tartar  !  "  said  he. 


THE   FOUR   MISFORTUNES. 

A   HEBREW    TALE. 


A  PIOUS  Rabbi,  forced  by  heathen  hate 
To  quit  the  boundaries  of  his  native 

land, 
Wandered    abroad,   submissive    to    his 

fate, 

Through  pathless  woods  and  wastes 
of  burning  sand. 


A  patient  ass,  to  bear  him  in  his  flight, 
A  dog,  to  guard  him  from  the  robber's 

stealth, 
A  lamp,  by  which  to  read  the  law  at 

night,  — 

Was  all  the  pilgrim's  store  of  worldly 
wealth. 


At  set  of  gun  he  reached  a  little  town, 
And  asked  for  shelter  and  a  crumb  of 

food; 
But  every  face    repelled  him  with  a 

frown, 

And  so  he  sought  a  lodging  in  the 
wood. 


"  'T  is  very  hard,"  the  weary  traveler 

said, 

"And  most  inhospitable,  I  protest, 
To  send  me  fasting  to  this  forest  bed  ; 
But  God  is  good,  and  means  it  for  the 
best !  " 


He  lit  his  lamp  to  read  the  sacred  law, 
Before  he  spread  his  mantle  for  the 

night; 

But  the  wind  rising  with  a  sudden  flaw, 
He  read  no  more,  —  the  gust  put  out 
the  light. 


'  'T  is  strange,"  he   said,   "  't  is   very 

strange,  indeed, 
That  ere  I  lay  me  down  to  take  my 


A  chapter  of  the  law  T  may  not  read,  — 
But  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the  best." 


With  these  consoling  words  the  Rabbi 

tries 

To  sleep,  his  head  reposing  on  a  log, 
But,  ere  he  fairly  shut  his  drowsy  eyes, 
A  wolf  came  up  and  killed  his  faith- 
ful dog. 


"What    new    calamity    is    this?"    he 

cried  ; 
"  My  honest  dog  —  a  friend  who  stood 

the  test 
When  others  failed  —  lies  murdered  at 

my  side ! 

Well,  —  God  is  good,  and  means  it 
for  the  best!" 


Scarce  had   the   Rabbi  spoken,   when, 

alas! 
As  if,  at  once,  to  crown  his  wretched 

lot, 

A  hungry  lion  pounced  upon  the  ass, 
And  killed  the  faithful  donkey  on  the 
spot. 


the    weeping    Rabbi 


"  Alas  !    alas 

said, 
"  Misfortune  haunts  me  like  a  hateful 

guest  ; 
My  dog   is  gone,  and  now  my  ass  is 

dead. 

Well,  —  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for 
the  best !  " 


At  dawn  of  day,  imploring  heavenly 

grace, 
Once  more  he  sought  the  town ;  but 

all  in  vain ; 
A  band   of  robbers  had  despoiled  the 

place, 
And  all   the   churlish  citizens  were 


"Now  God  be  praised!"  the  gratefu) 

Rabbi  cried, 

"  If  I  had  tarried  in  the  town  to  rest, 
I  too,  with   these   poor  villagers,   had 

died. 

Sure,  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the 
best! 


130 


THE   WANDERING  JEW. 


XIII. 

"Had  not  the  wanton  wind  put  out  ray 

lamp, 
By  which  the  sacred  law  I  would  have 

read, 
The  light  had  shown  the  robbers  to  my 

camp, 

And  here  the  villains  would  have  left 
me  dead. 


"  Had   not  my   faithful   animals  been 

slain, 
Their  noise,  no  doubt,  had  drawn  the 

robbers  near, 

And  so  their  master,  it  is  very  plain, 
Instead  of  them,  had  fallen  murdered 
here. 


"  Full  well  I  see  that  this  hath   hap- 
pened so 
To  put  my  faith  and  patience  to  the 

test. 
Thanks  to  His  name !  for  now  I  surely 

know 

That  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for  the 
best ! " 


THE  WANDERING  JEW.7 

A     BALLAD. 

COME  list,  my  dear, 

And  you  shall  hear 
About  the  wonderful  Wandering  Jew, 

Who  night  and  day, 

The  legends  say, 

Is  taking  a    journey  he  never  gets 
through. 

What  is  his  name, 

Or  whence  he  came, 
Or  whither  the  weary  wanderer  goes; 

Or  why  he  should  stray 

In  this  singular  way, 
Many    have    marveled,    but    nobody 
knows. 

Though  oft,  indeed 

(As  you  may  read 
In  ancient  histories  quaint  and  true), 

A  man  is  seen 

Of  ha<r<rard  mien 
Whom  people  call  the  Wandering  Jew. 


Once  in  Brabant, 

With  garments  scant, 
And  shoeless  feet,  a  stranger  appeared 

His  step  was  slow, 

And  white  as  snow 

Were  his  waving    locks  and   flowing 
beard. 

His  cheek  was  spare, 

His  head  was  bare  ; 
And  little  he  recked  of  heat  or  cold  ; 

Misfortune's  trace 

Was  in  his  face, 
And  he  seemed  at  least  a  century  old. 

"  Now,  goodman,  bide," 

The  people  cried, 
"The  night  with  us, — it  were  surely  best; 

The  wiud  is  cold, 

And  thou  art  old, 
And  sorely  ueedest  shelter  and  rest ! " 

"  Thanks !  thanks ! "  said  he, 

"  It  may  not  be 
That  I  should  tarry  the  night  with  you ; 

I  cannot  stay ; 

I  must  away, 
For  I,  alas !  am  the  Wandering  Jew  !  " 

"  We  oft  have  read," 

The  people  said, 
"  Thou  hearest  ever  a  nameless  woe  ; 

Now  prithee  tell 

How  it  befell 
That  thou  art  always  wandering  so  ?  " 

"  The  time  would  fail 

To  tell  my  tale, 
And  yet  a  little,  ere  I  depart, 

Would  I  relate 

About  my  fate, 
For  some,  perhaps,  may  lay  it  to  heart. 

"  When  but  a  youth 

(And  such,  in  sooth, 
Are  ever  of  giddy  and  wanton  mood), 

With  tearless  eye 

I  saw  pass  by 
The  Saviour  bearing  a  hateful  rood. 

"  And  when  he  stooped. 
And,  groaning,  drooped 
And  staggered  and  fell    beneath    the 

weight, 

I  cursed  his  name, 
And  cried,  '  For  shame ! 
Move    on,    blasphemer,  and   meet  th; 
fate ! ' 


THE   THREE   GOOD  DAYS. 


131 


-  He  raised  his  he:id, 

And,  smilinsr,  sai.l : 
•'  Move  ou  thyself !  lu  sorrow  and  pain, 

When  I  am  gone 

Shalt  thou  move  ou, 
Nor  rest  thy  foot  till  I  come  again  ! ' 

"  Alas !  the  time 

That  saw  my  crime,  — 
'T  was   more   than  a   thousand    years 
ago ! 

And  since  that  hour 

Some  inward  power 
Has  kept  me  wandering  to  and  fro. 

"  I  fain  would  die 

That  I  might  lie 

With    those   who    sleep    in   the    silent 
tomb ; 

But  not  for  me 

Is  rest.  —  till  He 
Shall  come  to  end  my  dreadful  doom. 

"  The  pestilence 

That  hurries  hence 
A  thousand  souls  in  a  single  night 

Brings  me  no  death 

Upon  its  breath, 
But  passes  by  in  its  wayward  flight. 

"  The  storm  that  wrecks 
A  hundred  decks, 
And  drowns  the  shuddering,  shrieking 

crew, 

Still  leaves  afloat 
The  frnLrile  boat 

That  bears  the  life  of  the  Wandering 
Jew. 

"  But  I  mu^t  away ; 

I  cannot  xtav  ; 
Nor  further  suffer  a  moment's  loss; 

Heed  well  the  word 

That  ye  have  heard,  — 
Nor  spurn    the    Saviour  who  bore  the 
Cross ! " 


THE  THREE  GOOD  DAYS. 

A    LEGEND   OF    ITALY. 

IN  Casena  dwelt  a  widow; 

Worldly  fortune  she  had  none; 
Nor  a  single  near  relation 

Save  her  silly,  idle  son. 


Little  heeded  he  her  counsel 

When  she  bude  him  stir  about,— 

Ever  yawning,  dozing,  sleeping, 
Like  a  good-for-nothing  lout. 

Oft  and  oft  his  mother  told  him 
(Dame  Lucetta  was  her  name), 

"  Rise,  Lucello!  (so  she  called  him), 
Get  thee  out,  —  for  very  shame  ! 

"  See,  the  sun  is  high  in  heaven  ! 

Quit,  my  boy,  your  lazy  bed  ; 
Go  and  seek  some  honest'labor ; 

So    good    days    shall    crown    your 
head." 

Much  the  foolish  fellow  marveled 

What  "  good  davs  "  might  chance  to 
be; 

When,  at  Inst,  the  lad  determined 
He  would  even  go  and  see. 

So,  next  morning,  lo !  the  sluggard, 

Rising  lazily  and  late, 
Sauntered  forth,  and  on,  and  onward. 

Till  he  reached  the  city  gate. 

Here  Lucello,  tired  with  walking 

In  the  sultry  summer  heat, 
Straightway   laid   him   down   to   slum- 
ber 

Right  across  the  trodden  street ! 

Now  it  chanced  three  wicked  robbers, 
Coming  from  the  secret  place 

Where  their  stolen  wealth  was  buried, 
Met  the  stranger  face  to  face. 

And  the  first,  as  he  was  passing, 
Seeing  some  one  in  the  way 

(For  he  stumbled  on  the  sleeper), 
Bade  him  civilly,  "  Good  day ! " 

"  There  is  one  !  "  Lucello  answered, 
Minding  what  the  darnc  had  said, 

How  "  good  days,"  for  good  behavior, 
Were  to  crown  his  lucky  head. 

But  the  robber,  conscience-smitten 
Touching  the  unlawful  pelf, 

Deemed  the  words  the  lad  had  spoken 
Plainly  pointed  to  himself! 

Soon  another  robber,  passing, 

His  "  Good  day  "  was  fain  to  give ; 

'•'  Here  is  luck  -.  "  exclaimed  Lucello, 
"  That  'a  the  second,  as  I  live ! " 


132 


A   CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 


Trembling,  now  the  rogues  awaited 

The  arrival  of  the  third, 
When  again  "  Good  day  "  was  given, 

Which  with  joy  Lucello  heard. 

"  Number  three,  by  all  that 's  lucky  !  " 
Cried  the  boy,  with  keen  delight ; 

"My  good  days  are  quickly  coining; 
Faith  !  the  dame  was  in  the  right ! ' 

Whereupon  the  robbers,  guessing 
That  the  lad  was  well  aware 

Of  the  treasure  they  had  hidden, 
Straightway  offered  him  a  share  ; 

Which  he  joyfully  accepted, 
And  in  triumph  carried  home, 

And  with  rapture  told  his  mother, 
How  his  lucky  days  had  come  ! 


THE   STORY  OF  ECHO. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  maiden  was  Echo, 

As  classical  history  tells, 
A  favorite  nvmph  of  Diana, 

Who  dwelt  among  forests  and  dells. 

Now  Echo  was  very  loquncions, 
And  though  she" was  silly  and  young, 

It  seems  that  she  never  was  weary 
Of  plying  her  voluble  tongue. 

And,  I  'm  sorry  to  say  in  addition, 
Besides  her  impertinent  clack, 

She  had,  upon  every  occasion, 
A  habit  of  answering  back. 

Though  even  the  wisest  of  matrons 
lu  trrave  conversation  was  heard, 

Miss  Echo  forever  insisted 

Ou  having  the  ultimate  word,  — 

A  fault  so  exceedingly  hateful, 
That  Juno  (whom  Echo  betrayed 

While  the  goddess  was  hearing  the  bab- 
ble) 
Determined  to  punish  the  maid. 

Said  she  :  "  In  reward  of  your  folly, 

Henceforth  in  vain  you  will  try  " 
To  talk  in  the  manner  of  others ; 
.  At  best,  you  can  only  reply  I  " 

A  terrible  punishment  truly 
For  one  of  so  lively  a  turn, 


And  it   brought  the   poor   maiden  to 

ruin; 
The  way  you  shall  presently  learn 

For,  meeting  the  handsome  Narcissus, 
And  wishing  his  favor  to  gain. 

Full  often  she  tried  to  address  him, 
But  always  endeavored  in  vain. 

And  when,  as  it  finally  happened, 
He  spoke  to  the  damsel  one  day, 

Her    answers    seemed    only    to    mock 

him. 
And  drove  him  in  anger  away. 

Ah  !  sad  was  the  fate  of  poor  Echo,  — 
Was  ever  so  hapless  a  maid  ? 

She  wasted  away  in  her  sorrow 
Until  she  was  wholly  decayed. 

But   her   voice    is  still    living   immor- 
tal,— 

The  same  you  have  frequently  heard, 
In  your  rambles    in  valleys  and  for- 
ests, 
Repeating  your  ultimate  word ! 


A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

Two  College  Prof essors,  —  I  won't  give 

their  names 
(Call  one  of  them  Jacob,  the  other  one 

James),  — 
Two   College  Professors,  who  ne'er  in 

their  lives 
Had  wandered  before  from  the  care  of 

their  wives, 
One  day  in  vacation,  when  lectures  were 

through, 
And  teachers  and  students  had  nothing 

to  do, 
Took  it  into  their  noddles  to  go  to  the 

Kaces, 
To  look  at  the  nags,  and  examine  their 

paces, 
And  find  out  the  meaning  of  "  bolting  " 

and  "  baiting," 
And  the  (clearly  preposterous)  practice 

of  "  waiting," 
And  "laying  long  odds,"  and  the  other 

queer  capers 
Which  cram  the  reports  that  appear  in 

the  papers ; 
And  whether  a  "  stake  "  is  the  same  a» 

a  post? 


A    CASE   OF   CONSCIENCE. 


133 


And  how  far  a  "  heat "  mny  resemble  a 

roast  ? 

And  whether  a  "  hedge,"    in   the   lan- 
guage of  sport, 
Is    much    like    the    plain    agricultural 

sort  1 
And  if  "making  a  book"  is  a  thing 

which  requires 
A  practical  printer?   and  who  are  the 

buyers  ?  — 
Such  matters  as  these,  —  very  proper  to 

know,  — 
And  no  thought  of    betting,    induced 

them  to  go 
To  the  Annual  Races,  which  then  were 

in  force 
(Horse-racing,  in   fact,  is   a   matter  of 

course, 
Apart  from  the  pun)  in  a  neighboring 

town; 
And  so,  as  I  said,  the  Professors  went 

down. 
The  day  was  the  finest   that  ever  was 

known ; 
The  atmosphere  just  of  that  temperate 

tone 
Which  plea«es  the  Spirit  of  (man  and) 

the  Times, 
But  impossible,  quite,  to  describe  in  my 

rhymes. 
The  track  had   been  put  in  a  capital 

plight 
Bv  a  smart  dash  of  rain  on  the  previous 

night, 
And  all  things  "  went  off  "  —  save  some 

of  the  horses  — 
As  lively  as  crickets  or  Kansas  divorces  ! 

Arrived  at  the  ground,  it  is  easy  to 
guess 

Our  worthy  Professors'  dismay  and  dis- 
tress 

At  all  the  queer  things  which  expanded 
their  eyes 

(Not  to  mention  their  ears)  to  a  won- 
derful size ! 

How  they  stared  at  the  men  who  were 
playing  at  poker, 

And  scolded  the  chap  with  the  "sly 
little  joker"; 

And  the  boy  who  had  "something  un 
commonly  nice," 

Which  he  offered  to  sell  at  a  very  high 
price,  — 

A  volume  that  did  n't  seem  over-re- 
fined. 

And  clearly  was  not  of  the  Sunday  school 
kind. 


All  this,  and  much   more,  —  but  your 

patience  will  fail, 
Unless   I   desist,  and  go   on   with  my 

tale. 

Our  worthy  Professors  no  sooner  had 
found 

Their  (ten-shilling)  seats  in  the  circular 
ground, 

And  looked  at  the  horses,  —  when,  pres- 
ently, came 

A  wish  to  know  what  was  the  Favorite's 
name ; 

And  how  stood  the  betting,  — quite  plain- 
ly revealing 

The  old  irrepressible  horse-race-y  feel- 
ing 

Which  is  born  in  the  bone,  and  is  apt  to 
come  out 

When  thorough-bred  coursers  are  snort- 
ing about. 

The  Professors,  in  fact,  —  I  am  grieved 

to  report,  — 
At  the  very  first  match  entered  into  the 

sport, 
And  bet  (with  each  other)  their  money 

away  — 
Just  Fifty  apiece  —  on  the  Brown  and 

the  Bay; 
And  shouted  as  loud  as  they  ever  could 

bellow, 
"  Hurrah  for  the    filly  ! "  and   "  Go  it, 

old  fellow ! " 
And,  "  Stick   to  your   business !  "  aud 

"  Rattle  your  pegs  !  "  — 
Like  a  jolly  old  brace  of  professional 

"  Legs ! " 

The  race  being  over,  quoth  Jacob,  "I 
see 

My  wager  is  forfeit ;  to  that  1  agree 

The  Fifty  is  yours,  by  the  technical 
rules 

Observed,  I  am  told,  by  these  horse- 
racing  fools ; 

But  then,  as  a  Christian,  —  I  'm  sorry 
to  say  it,  — 

My  Conscience,  you  know,  won't  allow 
me  to  pay  it ! " 

"  No    matter,"   quoth    James,   "  I    can 

hardly  refuse 
To  accord  with  your  sound  theological 

views  : 

A  tardy  repentance  is  better  thin  none  ; 
I   must  tell  you,   however,  't  was  your 

horse  that  won ! 


134 


But  of  course  you  won't  think  of  de- 
manding the  pelf, 

For  /  have  a  conscience  as  well  as  your- 
self!" 


THE  ORIGIN   OF  WINE. 

A   GERMAN    LEGEND. 


RESPECTFULLY     DEDICATED     TO     0.    M.     TDfKHAM, 
ESQ. 


YE  friends  of  good  cheer,  I  pray  yon 

give  ear ; 
I  sing  of  old  Noah  who  planted  the 

vine ; 

But  first,  if  you  please,  our  thirst  to  ap- 
pease, 

Let 's  drink  to  his  health  in  a  bumper 
of  wine ! 


When  the  Deluge  was  o'er,  and  good 

Father  Noah 
Sat  moping  one  day  in  the  shade  of  a 

tree, 
An  Angel   came  near,  and  thinking  it 

queer, 

Said  :  "  Tell  me,  I  pray,  what  the 
matter  may  be." 


Says  Noah  :  "  I  'm  curst  with  a  horrible 

thirst ; 
So   painful,  indeed,   I  am  ready  to 

siuk ; 
I  have  plenty  to  eat,  there  's  no  lack  of 

meat; 

But,  sir,  on  my  honor,  I  've  nothing 
to  drink ! " 


"  See,  on  every  side,"  the  Angel  replied, 
"  There  is  water  enough  both  in  river 

and  rill, 
Your  fever  to  slake,  —  not  to  mention 

the  lake, 

And  many  a  fountain  that  flows  from 
the  hill." 


Bays  Noah  :  "  I  know  the  waters  still 

flow, 

But  the  Deluge  has  ruined  the  fluid 
for  drink; 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 

So  mnny  bad  men  were   soaked  in  it 


nny  ba 
then, 


The  water  now  tastes  of  the  sinners, 
I  think." 


"  It  can't  be  denied,"  the  Angel   re- 
plied, 
"  There    is    something  of   reason  in 

what  you  have  said  ; 
Since  the  water  is  bad,  it  is  fitting  you 

had 

A  good  wholesome  tipple  to  drink  in 
its  stead, " 


Then  flying  away,  the  very  next  day 
The  Angel  came  back  with  a  handful 

of  seeds; 
And  taught  the  good  man  the  properest 

plan 

Of  planting,  and  hoeing,  and  killing 
the  weeds. 

VIII. 

Ah !  what  color  and  shape !   't  is  the 

beautiful  grape  ; 
In  clusters  of  purple  they  hang  from 

the  vine ; 
And  these   being  pressed,  it  is  easily 

guessed 

Old  Noah  thenceforward  drank  noth- 
ing but  wine. 


So,  a  cup  ere  we  part  to  the  man  of  our 

heart, 
Old  Noah,   the  primitive  grower  of 

wine ; 
And  one  brimming  cup  (nay,  fill  it  quite 

up) 

To  the  Angel  who  gave  him  the  seed 
of  the  vine! 


THE   PARROT    OF   NEVERS. 


ONCE  on  a  time  there  flourished  in  Nev- 

era, 

Within  a  nunnery  of  godly  note, 
A  famous  parrot,  so  exceeding  fair 

In  the  deep  lustre  of  his  emerald  coat, 
They  called    him  Ver- Vert,  — syllables 

that  mean 

In  English  much  the   same  as  Double 
Green. 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 


135 


In  youth   transplanted  from  an  Indian 

strand, 
For  his   soul's  health  with  Christian 

folks  to  dwell, 
His  morals  yet  were  pure,  his  manners 

blaud ; 
Gay,    handsome,   brilliant,   and,   the 

truth  to  tell, 
Pert  and  loquacious,  as  Became  his  age  ; 


irt  and  loq 
short,  wel 


1  worthy  of  his  holy  cage. 


Dear    to  the    sisters    for    his    winning 

ways 
Was   gay    Ver-Vert ;  they  kept  him 

ever  near, 
And   kindly  taught  him  many  a   holy 

phrase, 
Enforced  with  tidbits  from  their  daily 

cheer, 
And   loved  him  better,  they  would  oft 

declare, 
Than   any    one,    except  their    darling 


Ah  !    ne'er  was   parrot   happier  than 

he; 
And   happy  was   the    lucky   girl    of 

whom 
He    asked  —  according    as    his    whim 

might  be  — 
The    privilege  at   eve   to   share   her 

room, 
Where,    perched    upon    the   relics,    he 

would  sleep 
Through  the  long  night  in  slumber  calm 

and  deep. 


At  lensth .  what  joy  to  see !  —  the  bird 

h  id  grown, 

With  good  example,  thoughtful  and 
devout, 

He  said   his   prayers   in   such   a  nasal 

tone, 
His  piety  was  quite  beyond  a  doubt ; 

And  some  declared  that  soon,  with  prop- 
er teaching 

He  'd  rival  the  Superior  at  preaching ! 


If  any  laughed  to  see  his  solemn  ways, 
In  curt  rebuke,  "  Orate  !  "  *  he  replied ; 

•Pray! 


And  when  his  zeal  provoked  a  shower 

of  praise, 

"  Deo  sit  lam  !  "  t  the  humble  novice 
cried; 

And  many  said  they  did  n't  mind  con- 
fessing 

His  "  Pax  sit  tecum  "!  J  brought  a  spe- 
cial blessing. 


Such  wondrous  talents,  though  awhile 

concealed, 
Could  not  be  kept  in  secrecy  forever ; 

Some  babling  nun  the  precious  truth  re- 
vealed, 

And  all  the  town  must  see  a  bird  so 
clever ; 

Until  at  last  so  wide  the  wonder  grew, 

'T  was   fairly  bruited   all  the   country 
through. 

VIII. 

And  so  it  fell,  by  most  unlucky  chance, 

A  distant  city  of  the  parrot  heard  ; 
The  storv  reached  some  sister-nuns  at 

Na'ntz, 
Who  fain  themselves  would  see  this 

precious  bird 
Whose  zeal  and  learning  had  sufficed  to 

draw 
On  blest  Nevers  such  honor  and  eclat. 


What  could  they   do?— well,  here  is 

what  they  did, 

To  the  good  Abbess  presently  there 
went 

A   friendly  note,  in  which  the  writers 

bid 

A  thousand  blessings  hasten  their  de- 
scent 

Upon  her  honored  house,  —  and  would 
she  please 

To    grant  a    favor    asked    upon    their 
knees  ? 

x. 

'T  was  only  this,  that  she  would  deign 

to  lend 

For  a  brief  space  that  charming  paro- 
quet ; 
They  hoped  the  bold  request  might  not 

offend 

Her    ladyship,    but    then    they   fain 
would  get 

t  Praise  be  to  God 
$  Peace  be  with  .you 


136 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 


Such  proof  as  only  he   cou'd  well  ad- 
vance 
To  silence  certain  skeptic  nuns  of  Nantz. 


The  letter  came  to  hand,  and  such  a 

storm 

Of  pious  wrath  was  never  heard  be- 
fore ; 

The    mildest    sister    waxed    exceeding 

warm,  — 

" Perdre   Ver-Vert,  0   del!   plutdt  la 
mort !  " 

They  all  broke  forth  in  oue  terrific  cry, 

What  ?  —  lose    their    darling  ?  —  they 
would  rather  die  ! 


But,  on  reflection,  it  was  reckoned  best 
To  take  the  matter  iuto  grave  debate, 
And  put  the  question  fairly  to  the  test 
(Which  seemed,  indeed," a  nice  affair 

of  state), 
If  they  should  lend  their  precious  pet 

or  not ; 
And  so  they  held  a  session,  long  and  hot. 

XIII. 

The  sisters  all  with  one  accord  express 
Their  disapproval  in  a  noisy  "  No  !  " 
The  graver  d;ime  —  who  loved  the  par- 
rot less  — 
Declared,  Perhaps  't  were  best  to  let 

him  go ; 

Refusal  was  ungracious,  and,  indeed, 
An  ugly  quarrel  might  suffice  to  breed. 


Vain  was  the  clamor  of  the  younger  set ; 
"Just   fifteen    days  and    not   a  mo- 
ment more  " 

(Mamma    decided)  "we   will   lend   our 

pet; 

Of  course  his  absence  we  shall  all  de- 
plore, 

But  then,  remember,  he  is  only  lent 

For  two  short  weeks," — and  off  the 
parrot  went ! 


In  the  same  bark  that  bore   the  bird 

away 
Were  several  Gascons  and  a  vulgar 

nur-e, 
Besides   two  Cyprian  ladies;  sooth   to 

say, 

Ver- Vert's  companions  could  n't  have 
been  worse. 


Small  profit  such  a  youth  might  hope  to 
gain 

From  wretches  so  licentious  and  pro- 
fane. 


Their  manners  struck  him  as  extremely 

queer ; 
Such  oaths  and  curses  he  had  never 

heard 
As  now  in  volleys  stunned  his  saintly 

ear; 
Although    he  did  n't    understand    a 

word, 
Their  conversation  seemed    improper, 

very, 
To  one  brought  up  within  a  monastery. 

XVII. 

For   his,   remember,  was    a    Christian 

tongue 
Unskilled  in  aught  save  pious  prose 

or  verse 
By    his    good    sisters    daily    said    or 

sung ; 
And  now  to  hear  the  Gascons  and  the 

nurse 

Go  on  in  such  a  roaring,  ribald  way, 
He  knew  not  what  to  think,  nor  what 

to  say. 

XVIII. 

And  so  he  mused   in   silence ;   till   at 

last 

The  nurse  reproached  him  for  a  sul- 
len fool, 

And  poured  upon  him  a  terrific  blast 
Of  questions,   such  as,    where   he  'd 
been  to  school  ? 

And  was  he  used  to  traveling  about  ? 

And  did  his  mother  know  that  he  was 
out? 


"  Ave  Maria  !  "  *  said    the    parrot, — 

vexed 
By    so    much    banter    into    sudden 

speech.  — 
Whereat  all  laughed  to  hear  the  holy 

text. 
And  cried,  "  By  Jove !   the  chap  is 

going  to  preach  !  " 
"  Come,"  they  exclaimed,  "  let  's  have  a 

song  instead." 
"  Canlale  Domino  !  "  t  the  parrot  said. 

*  Hail  Mary. 

t  Let  us  flag  unto  the  Lord. 


THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS. 


137 


At  this  reply  they  laughed  so  loud  and 

long 
That     poor     Ver-Vert     was    fairly 

stricken  dumb. 
In  vain  they   teased  him  for  a  merry 

song ; 
Abashed  by  ridicule  and  quite  o'er- 

come 

With  virulent  abuse,  the  wretched  bird 
For  two  whole  days  refused  to  speak  a 

word. 

XXI. 

Meanwhile  he  listened  to  their  vile  dis- 
course 

In  deep  disgust;  but  still  the  stranger 
thought 

Their  slang  surpassed  in  freedom,  pith, 

and  force 

The  purer  language  which  the  missal 
taught, 

And  seemed,  besides,  an  easier  tongue 
to  speak 

Than    praver-book   Latin  or    monastic 
Greek. 

XXII. 

In  short,  to  tell  the  melancholy  truth, 
Before  the  boat  had  reached  its  des 

lined  shore 
He   who   embarked  a  pure,  ingenuous 

youth, 
Had  grown  a  profligate,  and  cursed 

and  swore 
Such  dreadful  oaths  as  e'en  the  Gascons 

heard 
With  shame,  and  said,  "  The  Devil 's 

in  the  bird  !  " 

XXIII. 

At  length  the  vessel  hr.s  arrived  in  port 
And  half  the  sisterhood  are  waiting 
there 

To  greet  their  guest,  and  safely  to  es- 
cort 

To   their   own   house   the  wonderful 
Ver-Vert,  — 

The  precious  parrot  whom  their  fancies 
paint 

Crowned  with  halo  like  a  very  saint ! 

XXIV. 

Great  was  the  clamor  when  their  eyes 

beheld 

The  charming  stranger  in  the  emerald 
coat; 


"  Ver-Vert,  indeed  !  "  —  his   very    hue 

compelled 
A  shout  of  praise  that  reached   the 

highest  note. 
"  And    then    such    eyes !   and    such   a 

graceful  walk ! 
And  soon  —  what  rapture!  —  we  shall 

hear  him  talk  !  " 

XXV. 

At  length  the  Abbess,  in  a  nasal  chant 
(Intended,   doubtless,    for    a    pret'y 

speech), 
Showered  him  with  thanks  that  he  had 

deigned  to  grant 

His  worthy  presence  there,  and  to  be- 
seech 

His  benediction  in  such  gracious  terms 
As  might  befit  the  sinfulest  of  worms. 


Alas  for  youthful  piety  !  the  bird, 
Still  thinking  o'er  the  lessons  latest 

learned, 

For  a  full  minute  answered  not  a  word, 
And  i hen,  as  if  to  show  how  much  ho 

spurned 

The  early  teachings  of  his  holy  school, 
He  merely  muttered,  "Curse  the  silly 
fool ! " 


XXVII. 

The  lady,  startled  at  the  queer  remark, 
Could   not   but  think   that   she   had 

heard  amiss ; 
And   so    began   to   speak   again,  —  but 

hark ! 

What  diabolic  dialect  is  this?  — 
Such  language  for  a  saint  was  most  iu> 

propcr, 
Each  word  an  oath,  and  every  oath  » 

whopper ! 

XXVIII. 

"  Parbleu .'  "    "  Morblea  !  "    and    everjr 

a/ure  curse 

To  pious  people  strictly  disallowed, 
Including  others  that  were  vastly  worsc^, 
Came  rattling  forth  on  the  astonished, 

crowd 
In  such   a  storm  that  one  might  well 

compare 
The  dreadful  volley  to  a,  feu  d'tnfer! 

XXIX. 

All  stood  aghast  in  horror  and  dismay;. 
Some  cried,  "For  shame!  is  that  the- 
way  they  teach 


138 


KING  SOLOMON  AND   THE  BEES. 


Their  pupils  at  Nevers  1  "    Some  ran 

away, 

Rending  the  welkin  with  a  piercing 
screech  ; 

Some  stopt  their  ears  for  modesty  ;  and 
some 

(Though  shocked)  stood  waiting  some- 
thing worse  to  come. 


In  hrief,  the  dame,  replete  with  holy 

rage 
At  being  thus  insulted  and  disgraced, 

Shut    up    the    hateful    parrot    in    his 

cage, 

And  sent   him    back   with    all   con- 
venient haste 

And  this  indignant  note:  "In  time  to 
come 

Be  pleased  to  keep  your  precious  prize 
at  home !  " 

XXXI. 

When  to  Nevers   the  wicked  wanderer 

came, 

All  were  delighted  at  his  quick  re- 
turn ; 
But  who  can    paint   their  sorrow  and 

their  shame 
When  the  sad  truth  the  gentle  sisters 

learn, 
That  he  who  left  them  chanting  pious 


Now  greets  his  friends  with  horrid  oaths 
and  curses ! 


'T  is  said  that  after  many  bitter  days 
In  wholesome  solitude  and  penance 

passed, 
Ver-Vert    grew  meek,   reformed    his 

wii-krd  ways, 

And  died  a  hopeful  penitent  at  last. 
The  moral  of  my  story  is  n't  deep,  — 
"  Young  folks,  beware  what  company 
you  keep !  " 


KING  SOLOMON  AND  THE  BEES. 

A    TALE    OF    THE    TALMUD. 


WHEN   Solomon   was  reigning  in   his 

priory, 

Unto  his  throne  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
came 


(So  in  the  Talmud  you  may  read  the 

story ) , 
Drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  monarch's 

fame, 
To  see  the  splendors  of  his  court,  and 

bring 
Some    fitting    tribute    to    the    mighty 

kiny-. 


Nor  this  alone;  much  had  her  Highness 

heard 
What  flowers  of  learning  graced  the 

royal  speech ; 
What  gems  of  wisdom   dropped   with 

every  word  ; 
What  wholesome  lessons  he  was  wont 

to  teach 
In  pleasing  proverbs ;  and  she  wished, 

in  sooth, 

To  know  if  Rumor  spoke  the    simple 
'    truth. 


Besides,  the  queen   had   heard  (which 

piqued  her  most) 

How  through  the  deepest  riddles  he 
could  spy ; 

How  all  the  curious  arts  that   women 

boast 

Were  quite  transparent  to  his  pierc- 
ing eye ; 

And  so  the  queen  had  come  —  a  royal 
guest  — 

To  put  the  sage's  cunning  to  the  test. 

IV. 

And  straight  she  held  before  the  mon- 
arch's view, 

In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath  of 
flowers  ; 

The  one,  hedccked  with  every  charming 

hue, 

Was    newly    culled    from   Nature's 
choicest  bowers; 

The    other,    no     less     fair     in     every 
part, 

Was  the  rare  product  of  divinest  Art. 


"Which    is   the  true,  and   which  the 

false'  "  she  said. 
Great   Solomon    was    silent.      A 11- 

amnzed, 
Each   wondering    courtier    shook    his 

puzzled  head, 

While  at  the  garlands  long  the  mon 
arch  gazed, 


In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath  of  flowers.'1     Page  138. 


THE  PIOUS  BRAHMIN  AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS, 


139 


As  one  who  sees  a  miracle,  and  fain, 
For   very  rapture,  ne'er  would  speak 
again. 

VI. 

"  Which  is  the  true  ?  "  once  more  the 

woman  asked, 
Pleased  at  the  fond  amazement  of  the 

king, 
'•'  So  wise  a  head  should  not  be  hardly 

tasked, 
Most  learue'd  liege,  with  such  a  trivial 

thing ! " 
But  still   the  sage  was  silent ;  it   was 

plain 
A  deepening  doubt  perplexed  the  royal 

brain. 

VII. 

While  thus  he  pondered,  presently  he 

sees, 
Hard  by  the  casement,  —  so  the  story 

goes,  — 

A  little  band  of  busy,  bustling  bees, 
Hunting    for    honey   in    a    withered 

rose. 
The    monarch   smiled,  and    raised  his 

royal  head ; 
"  Open  the  window  !  "  —  that  was  all  he 

said. 

VIII. 

The  window  opened  at  the  king's  com- 
mand ; 

Within   the  room  the  eager   insects 
flew, 

And  sought  the  flowers  in  Sheba's  dex- 
ter hand ! 

And  so  the  king  and  all  the  courtiers 
knew 

That  wri-ath  was  Nature's ;  and  the  baf- 
fled queen 

Returned  to  tell  the  wonders  she  had 


My    story    teaches  (every    tale    should 

bear 
A  fitting  moral)  that   the  wise  may 

find, 

In  trifles  light  as  atoms  in  the  air, 
Some    useful    lesson    to   enrich    the 

mind, 
Some  truth  designed    to    profit  or    to 

please, — 
As  Israel's  king  learned  wisdom  from 

the  bees ! 


THE   PIOUS  BRAHMIN  AND  HIS 
NEIGHBORS. 

JL  HINDOO   FABLE. 

A  PIOUS  Brahmin  made  a  vow 

Upon  a  certain  day 
To  sacrifice  a  fatted  sheep ; 

And  so,  his  vow  to  pay, 
One  morning  to  the  market-place 

The  Brahmin  took  his  way. 

It  chanced  tbree  cunning  neighbors, 
Three  rogues  of  brazen  brow, 

Had  formed  the  wicked  purpose 
(My  tale  will  tell  you  how) 

To  cheat  the  pious  Brahmin, 
And  profit  by  his  vow. 

The  leader  of  these  cunning  knaves 

Went  forth  upon  the  road, 
And  bearing  on  his  shoulders 

What  seemed  a  heavy  load, 
He  met  the  pious  Brahmin 

Not  far  from  his  abode. 

"  What  have  you  there  1  "  the  Brahmin 
said. 

"  Indeed,"  the  man  replies, 
"  I  have  the  finest,  fattest  sheep, 

And  of  the  largest  size ; 
A  sheep  well  worthy  to  be  slain 

In  solemn  sacrifice  !  " 

And  then  the  rogue  laid  down  his  load, 

And  from  a  bag  drew  forth 
A  scurvy  dog.  "  See  there  !"  he  cried, 

"  The  finest  sheep  on  earth  ! 
And  you  shall  have  him,  if  you  will, 

For  less  than  he  is  worth." 

"  Wretch !  "  cried  the  pious  Brahmin, 

"  To  call  a  beast  so  mean 
A  goodly  sheep !    'T  is  but  a  dog 

Accurse'd  and  unclean ; 
The  foulest,  leanest,  lamest  cur 

That  ever  yet  was  seen ! " 

Just  then  the  second  rogue  came  up. 

"  What  luck ! "  be  said,  "  to  find 
So  soon  a  sheep  in  flesh  and  fleece 

Exactly  to  my  mind !  " 
"  A  sheep  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Brahmin, 

"  Then  I  am  surely  blind  ! " 

"  You  must  be  very  blind  indeed, 
Or  fond  of  telling  lies, 


140 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  NICK   VAN  STANN. 


To  say  the  beast  is  not  a  sheep  !  " 
The  cunning  rogue  replies ; 

"  Go  get  a  leech  to  mend  your  tongue, 
Or  else  to  mend  your  eyes ! " 

Now  while  these  men  disputed  thus, 

The  other  rogue  drew  near, 
And  all  agreed  this  honest  man 

Should  make  the  matter  clear. 
"  O  stranger  !  "  cried  the  Brahmin, 

"  What  creature  have  we  here  ?  " 

"  A  goodly  sheep !  "  the  stranger  said. 

"  Alas  !  "  the  Brahmin  cried, 
"  A  moment  since  I  would  have  sworn 

This  honest  fellow  lied  ; 
But  now  I  know  it  is  a  sheep, 

Since  thus  you  all  decide  !  " 

And  so  it  was  the  cunning  knaves 

Prevailed  in  their  device  ; 
The  pious  Brahmin  bought  the  dog, 

Nor  higgled  at  the  price. 
"  'T  will   make,"    he  said,  "  unto    the 
gods 

A  pleasing  sacrifice  !  " 

Btit  ill  betide  the  fatal  hour 

His  filthy  blood  was  shed  ; 
It  brought  no  benison,  alas  ! 

Upon  the  Brahmin's  head  ; 
The  gods  were  angry  at  the  deed, 

And  sent  a  curse  instead  ! 

The  meaning  of  this  pleasant  tale 

Is  very  plainly  shown ; 
The  man  is  sure  to  fall,  at  last, 

Who  does  n't  stand  alone  : 
Don't  trust  to  other  people's  eyes, 

But  learn  to  mind  your  own  ! 


THE   ROMANCE    OF  NICK   VAN 

STANN.8 

I  CANNOT  vouch  my  tale  is  true, 
Nor  swear,  indeed,  't  is  wholly  new  ; 
But,  true  or  false,  or  new  or  old, 
I  think  you  '11  find  it  fairly  told. 

A  Frenchman,  who  had  ne'er  before 
Set  foot  upon  a  foreign  shore. 
Weary  of  home,  resolved  to  go 
And  see  what  Holland  had  to  show. 
He  did  n't  know  a  word  of  Dutch, 
But  that  could  hardly  grieve  him  much  ; 
He  thought,  as  Frenchmen  always  do, 
That  all  the  world  could  parley-roo  I 


At  length  our  eager  tourist  stands 
Within  the  famous  Netherlands, 
And,  strolling  gayly  here  and  there 
In  search  of  something  rich  or  rare, 
A  lordly  mansion  greets  his  eyes. 
"  How  beautiful !  "  the  Frenchman  cries, 
And,  bowing  to  the  man  who  sate 
In  livery  at  the  garden -gate  ; 
"Pray,  Mr.  Porter,  if  you  please, 
Whose  very  charming  grounds  are  these? 
And  —  pardon  me  —  be  pleased  to  tell 
Who    in    this     splendid     house     may 

dwell  ?  " 

To  which,  in  Dutch,  the  puzzled  man 
Replied  what  seemed   like  "Nick    Van 

Stann."* 

"Thanks!"  said  the  Gaul,  "the  own- 
er's taste 

Is  equally  superb  and  chaste  ; 
So  fine  a  house,  upon  my  word, 
Not  even  Paris  can  afford. 
With  statues,  too,  in  every  niche, 
Of  course,  Monsieur  Van  'Stann  is  rich, 
And  lives,  I  warrant,  like  a  king,  — 
Ah  !  wealth  must  be  a  charming  thing ! " 
In  Amsterdam  the  Frenchman  meets 
A  thousand  wonders  in  the  streets; 
But  most  he  marvels  to  behold 
A  lady  dressed  in  silk  and  gold. 
Gazing  with  rapture  at  the  dame, 
He  begs  to  know  the  lady's  name, 
And  hears  —  to  raise  his  wonder  more  — 
The  very  words  he  heard  before. 
"  Mercie  !  "  he  cries,  "  well,  on  my  life, 
Milord  has  got  a  charming  wife  ; 
'Tis  plain  to  see,  this  Nick  Van  Stann 
Must  be  a  very  happy  man  ! " 

Next    day,  our    tourist    chanced    to 

pop 

His  head  within  a  lottery-shop, 
And  there  he  saw,  with  staving  eyes, 
The  drawing  of  the  Mammoth  Prize. 
"  Ten  Millions !     'T  is  a  pretty  sum ; 
I  wish  I  had  as  much  at  home ! 
I  'd  like  to  know,  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 
What  lucky  fellow  is  the  winner." 
Conceive  our  traveler's  amaze 
To  hear  again  the  hackneyed  phrase  ! 
"  What !     No  ?    not   Nick    Van   Stann 

again  1 

Faith  !  he  's  the.  luckiest  of  men  ! 
You  may  be  sure  we  don't  advance 
So  rapidly  as  that  in  France. 
A  house,  the  finest  in  the  land ; 
A  lovely  garden,  nicely  planned ; 

*  Tk  kan  niet  verstaan,  —  I  don't  understand 


THE  FISHERMAN  AND   THE  FLOUNDER. 


141 


A  perfect  angel  of  a  wife, 

And  gold  enough  to  last  a  life,  — 

There  never  vet  was  mortal  man 

So  blest  as  Monsieur  Nick  Van  Stann! 

Next  day  the  Frenchman  chanced  to 

meet 

A  pompous  funeral  in  the  street, 
And  asking  one  who  stood  near  by 
What  nobleman  had  pleased  to  die  ? 
Was  stunned  to  hear  the  old  reply. 
The  Frenchman  sighed   and  shook  his 

head. 
"  Mon  Dieu !  poor  Nick   Van  Stann  is 

dead  ! 

With  such  a  house,  and  such  a  wife, 
It  must  be  hard  to  part  with  life  ; 
And  then,  to  lose  that  Mammoth  Prize  — 
He  wins,  and  —  pop  !  —  the  winner  dies ! 
Ah !  well,  his  blessings  came  so  fast 
I  greatly  feared  they  could  n't  last ; 
And  thus,  we  see,  the  sword  of  Fate 
Cuts  down  alike  the  small  and  great !  " 


THE    FISHERMAN   AND    THE 
FLOUNDER. 

A   GERMAN   FAIRY   TALE. 

A  FISHERMAN,  poor  as  poor  can  be, 
Who  lived  in  a  hovel  beside  the  sea, 
Was  fishing  one  day,  when  "  Lo !  "  he 

cries, 
"  I  've  caught  a  flounder  of  wondrous 

size, 

As  fine  a  flounder  as  one  could  wish  !  " 
"  0  no,  you  have  n't !  "  exclaimed  the 

fish; 

"In  spite  of  my  scaly  skin,"  he  said, 
'  I  am  not  a  fish,  but  a  Prince  instead  ; 
Condemned  to  suffer  this  wntery  woe ; 
So  I  beg,  good  man,  you  will  let  me  go ! " 
The  fisherman,  frightened   at  what  he 

heard, 

Let  the  flounder  go  with  never  a  word 
Except  "  Good-by  !  I  'd  rather  eschew 
Than  cook  a  flounder  who  talks  like 

you ! " 

His  hovel  now  the  fisherman  sought, 
And  told  his  wife  of  the  fish  he  caught, 
And  how  his  luck  was  all  in  vain, 
For  he  let  the  flounder  off  again ! 
"And    did    you    ask    for    nothing?  — 

alack !  " 

The  woman  cried  :  "  Go  presently  back, 
And  tell  the  Prince  of  our  wretched  lot, 


And  ask  him  to  give  us  a  finer  cot !  " 
To  mind  his  wife  he  was  something 

loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was 

wroth ; 

And  so  he  went  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  thus  the  fisherman  loudly  cried  : 
"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me  ; 
For  Pauline,  mv  loving  dame, 
Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,  "  Why,  oh  why,  am  I  summoned 

here  1 " 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered 

thus: 

"  My  dame  is  always  making  a  fuss; 
A  cosey  hovel  is  hers  and  mine, 
But  she  fain   would    have    a    cottage 

fine  ! " 
"Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "this  very 

minute ; 
The  cottage  is  her's ;  vou  11  find  her  in 

it!" 

He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and  lo  ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 
"  How  happy,"  he  cried,  "  we  now  shall 

be!r' 
But  the  woman  answered,  "  We  shall 

see ! " 
When  a  month  was  past,  the  woman 

sighed 
For  a  larger  house.    "Now  go,"  she 

cried, 

"  And  tell  the  flounder  ('t  is  my  com- 
mand ) 

I  want  a  mansion  large  and  grand  !  " 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  trulv  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was 

wroth ; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  loudly  thus  the  fisherman  cried  : 
"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me  ; 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,    "  Why   again   am    I    summoned 

here  ?'" 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered 

thus: 

"  My  wife  is  always  making  a  fuss ; 
She  deems  our  cottage  much  too  small ; 
She  wants  a  mansion  large  and  tall." 
"  Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "  this  very 

minute ; 
The  mansion  is  there ;  you  '11  find  her 

in  it !  " 


1.42 


HOW   THE  RAVEN  BECAME  BLACK. 


He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and  lo ! 

The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 

And  he  cried,  "  How  happy  we  shall 

be!" 
But  the  woman  answered,   "  We   shall 

see ! " 
When    a  week   was   past,   the   woman 

sighed 
For   a  castle  grand.     "Now  go,"  she 

cried, 
"And  tell  the  flounder  that  he   must 

give 

Your  wife  a  palace  wherein  to  live." 
To   mind    the    dame    he   was    greatly 

loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was 

wroth  ; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  softly  thus  the  fi>herman  cried  : 
"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  lo  me; 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name  !  " 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,   "  Why    again   am    I   summoned 

here  ?  " 
And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered 

thus : 

"  My  dame  is  always  making  a  fuss  ; 
She  deem-;  our  mansion  poorly  planned  ; 
She  wants  a  palace  great  and  grand  !  " 
"  Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "  this  very 

minute ; 
The  palace  is  there ;  you  Ml  find  HIT  in 

it!" 

He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and,  lo ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 
And   he  cried,  "How  happy  we  shall 

he !  " 
But  the  woman  answered,  "  We  shall 

see  !  " 
Wheu    a  day   was  past,  with  growing 

pride, 

For  regal  power  the  woman  sighed ; 
And  she  hade  the  fisherman  tell  the  fish 
To  reign  as  a  king  was  now  her  wish. 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  sadly  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was 

wroth ; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  softly  thus  the  fisherman  cried  : 
'•  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me ; 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,   "  Why   again   am    I  summoned 

here  f  " 


And  the  trembling  fisherman  answered 

thus: 

"  Mv  dame  is  always  making  a  fuss  ; 
She"  has  got  a  palace  great  and  grand, 
And  now  she  asks  for  roval  command  !  " 
"  Go    home !  "   said    the  fish,    "  at   the 

palace  gate 

You'll  rind  her  a  king  in  royal  state  !  " 
He  hied  him  home  in  haste,"  and,  lo! 
The  rishennan  found  it  even  so. 
"  Good  faith,"  said  he,  "  't  is  a  charm- 
ing thing 

To  be,  like  you,  a  sovereign  king 
With  a  golden  crown  upon  your  brow. 
I'm  sure  vou  '11  be  contented  now  '  '* 
"  Not  I,  indeed,"  the  woman  said, 
"  A  triple  crown  would  ^race  my  head  ; 
And  I  am  worthy,  I  humbly  hope. 
Go  tell  the  flounder  to  make  me  pope  ! " 
"  A  pope  ?  mv  dear,  it  cannot  be  done ! 
The  Church,  you  know,  allows  but  one." 
"  Nay,  none  of  your  nonsense,  man," 

said  she, 

"  A  pope,  a  pope  I  am  bound  to  be ! 
The  Prince  will  find  it  an  easy  thing 
To  make  a  pope  as  to  make  a  kin^  ! " 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  sorely  loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she  was 

wroth  ; 

So  he  went  ngain  to  the  ocean-side, 
And  thus  the  fisherman  faintly  cried  : 
"  O  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me, 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants  queer  things  I  fear  to  name  !  " 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming  near, 
Said,    "  Why    again   am   I  summoned 

here  ?  " 

"  Alack,  alack  !  "  the  fisherman  said, 
"  Whatever    has    turned    the   woman's 

head, 

She  is  ill-content  with  royal  scope, 
And  now,  good  lack  !  she  would  fain  be 

pope !  " 

"  Go  home  !  "  the  flounder  gruffly  cried, 
"  And  see  the  end  of  foolish  pride  ; 
You  '11  find  h-r  in  her  hovel  again, 
And  there,  till  death,  shall  she  remain  1 " 


HOW  THE  RAVEN  BECAME 
BLACK. 

THERE  's  a  clever  classic  story, 
Such  as  poets  used  to  write 

(You  may  find  the  tale  in  Ovid), 
That  the  Haven  once  was  white. 


DEATH  AND   CUPID. 


143 


White  as  yonder  swan  a-sailing 
At  this 'moment  in  the  moat, 

Till  the  bird,  for  misbehavior, 
Lost,  one  day,  his  snowy  coat. 

"  Raven-white  "  was  once  the  saying, 

Till  an  accident,  alack  ! 
Spoiled  its  meaning,  and  thereafter 

It  was  changed  to  "  Raven-black." 

Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  happened 
That  the  change  was  brought  about  ? 

List  the  story  of  Coronis, 

And  you  '11  find  the  secret  out. 

Young  Coronis,  fairest  maiden 
Of  The.ssalia's  girlish  tram, 

Whom  Apollo  loved  and  courted, 
Loved  and  courted  not  in  vain, 

Flirted  with  another  lover 
(So  aC  least  the  story  goes) 

And  was  wont  to  meet  him  slyly, 
Underneath  the  blushing  rose. 

Whereupon  the  bird  of  Phcebus, 
Who    their    meetings    chanced    to 
view, 

Went  in  haste  unto  his  master, 
Went  and  told  him  all  he  knew ; 

Told  him  how  his  dear  Coronis, 
False  and  faithless  as  could  be, 

Plainly  loved  another  fellow,  — 
If  he  doubted,- come  and  see  ! 

Whereupon  Apollo,  angry 

Thus  to  find  himself  betrayed, 
-  With  his  silver  bow-and-arrow 

Went  and  shot  the  wretched  maid  ! 

Now  when  he  perceived  her  dviug, 
He  was  stricken  to  the  henrt, 

Ami  to  stop  her  mortal  bleeding, 
Tried  his  famous  healing  art. 

But  in  vain  ;  the  jrod  of  Physic 

H-id  no  antidote  ;  alack  ! 
He  who  tnok  her  off  so  deftly 

Could  n't  bring  the  maiden  back. 

Angry  with  himself,  Apollo. 

Yet  more  angry  with  his  bird, 
For  a  moment  stood  in  silence, 

Impotent  to  speak  a  word. 

Then  he  turned  upon  the  Raven, 
"  Wanton  babbler  !  see  thy  fate  ! 


Messenger  of  mine  no  longer, 
Go  to  Hades  with  thy  prate  ! 

"  Weary  Pluto  with  thy  tattle  ! 

Hither,  monster,  come  not  back ; 
And,  to  match  thy  disposition, 

Henceforth  be  thy  plumage  black  ! 


When  you  're  tempted  to  make  mis- 
chief, 

It  is  wisest  to  refuse  ; 
People  are  not  apt  to  fancy 

Bearers  of  unwelcome  news. 

SECOND    MORAL. 

Something  of  the  pitch  you  handle 
On  your  fingers  will  remain  ; 

As  the  Raven's  tale  of  darkness 
Gave  the  bird  a  lasting  stain. 


DEATH  AND  CUPID. 


AN    ALLEGORY. 

AH  !  who  but  oft  hath  marveled  why 

The  gods  who  rule  above 
Should  e'er  permit  the  young  to  die, 

Ihe  old  to  fall  in  love! 

Ah  !  why  should  hapless  human- kind 
Be  punished  out  of  season  ? 

Pray  listen,  and  perhaps  you  '11  find 
My  rhyme  may  give  the  reason. 

Death,  strolling  out  one  summer's  daj 
Met  Cupid,  with  his  sparrows  ; 

And,  bantering  in  a  merry  way, 
Proposed  a  change  of  arrows. 

"  Agreed  !  "  quoth  Cupid,  "  I  foresee 
The  queerest  game  of  errors  ; 

For  you  the  King  of  Hearts  will  be, 
And  I  '11  be  King  of  Terrors." 

And  so  't  was  done.     Alas  the  day 
That  multiplied  their  arts  ! 

Each  from  the  other  bore  away 
A  portion  of  his  darts, 

And  that  explains  the  reason  why, 

Despite  the  gods  above, 
The  young  are  often  doomed  to  die, 

The  old  to  fall  in  love ! 


144 


WISDOM  AND  CUNNING. 


LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 

AN    ALLEGORY. 

LOVE  and  Lucre  met  one  day, 

In  chill  November  weather, 
And  so,  to  while  the  time  away, 

They  held  discourse  together. 

Love  at  first  was  rather  shy, 
As  thinking:  there  was  danger 

In  venturing  so  very  nigh 

The  haughty-looking  stranger. 

But  Lucre  managed  to  employ 

Behavior  so  potential, 
That,  in  a  trice,  the  bashful  boy 

Grew  bold  and  confidential. 

"  I  hear,"  quoth  Lucre,  bowing  low, 
"  With  all  your  hearts  and  honey, 

You  sometimes  suffer  —  is  it  so  ?  — 
For  lack  of  ready  money." 

Love  owned  that  he  was  poor  in  aught 

Except  in  golden  fancies, 
And  ne'er  as  yet  had  given  a  thought 

To  mending  his  finances ; 

"  Besides,  I  Ve  heard,"  —  so  Love  went 
on, 

The  other's  hint  improving,— 
"  That  gold,  however  sought  or  won, 

Is  not  a  friend  to  loving." 

"  An  arrant  lie  !  —  as  you  shall  see,  — 

Full  long  ago  invented 
By  knaves  who  know  not  you  nor  me, 

To  tickle  the  demented."c  •    > *.  <•  Jv 

And  Lucre  waved  his  wand,  and  lo  ! 

By  magical  expansion, 
Love  saw  his  little  hovel  grow 

In  to  a  stately  mansion  ; 

And  where,  before,  he  used  to  snp 

Untended  in  his  cottage, 
An  I  grumble  o'er  the  earthen  cap 

That  held  his  meagre  pottage,  — 

Now,  smoking  viands  crown  his  board, 
And  many  a  flowing  chalice  ; '.  t  l 

His  larder  was  with  plenty  stored, 
And  beauty  filled  the  palace. 

And  Love,  though  rather  lean  at  first, 
And  tinged  with  melancholy, 


On  generous  wines  and  puddings  nursed, 
Grew  very  stout  and  jolly. 

Yet,  mindful  of  his  early  friend, 

He  never  turns  detractor, 
But  prays  that  blessings  may  attend 

His  worthy  benefactor ; 

And  when  his  friends  are  gay  above 
Their  evening  whist  or  euchre, 

And  drink  a  brimming  health  to  Love, 
He  drinks  "  Success  to  Lucre !  " 


WISDOM  AND  CUNNING. 

AN    ALLEGORY. 

As  Wisdom  one  evening  was  taking  a 
stroll, 

Quite  out  of  her  usual  road, 
She  came  to  a  hut,  at  the  foot  of  a  knoll, 

Where  Selfishness  had  his  abode. 

In  this  dismal  retreat,  which,  within  and 
without, 

Was  the  shabbiest  ever  was  known, 
In  a  fashion  befitting  so  scurvy  a  lout, 

The  miser  was  living  alone. 

She  knocked  at  the  door  with  a  maidenly 

nip. 

To  inquire  concerning  the  way  ; 
For  in  strolling  alx>ut,  by  an  awkward 

mishap, 
Miss  Wisdom  had  wandered  astray. 

The  ocotipnnt  growled,  for  the  insolent 
churl 

Suspected  some  beggarly  kin ; 
But,  getting  a  iteep  at  the  beautiful  girl, 

He  civilly  bade  her,  "  Come  in ! " 

Alas  for  the  damsel !  was  ever  before 
A  maid  in  so  wretched  a  plight  ? 

For  Selfishness  cruelly  bolted  the  door, 
And  forced  her  to  wed  him  outright. 

That  a  couple  so  mated  soon  came  to  be 

foes, 

Of  course  it  is  easy  to  see ; 
For    natures    so    opposite,    every  one 

knows, 
Could  never  a  moment  agree. 

And  so  it  befell  that  the  lady  at  last, 
By  pleading  deception  and  force, 


THE  SULTAN  AND  THE  OWLS. 


145 


From  tlie  infamous  marriage  that  bound 

her  so  fast, 
Procured  an  eternal  divorce. 

But  ere  't  was  decreed,  it  is  proper  to 

say, 

A  serious  mischief  was  done ; 
For   it  happened    one   morning,  —  bad 

luck  to  the  day  ! 
The  lady  gave  birth  to  a  son. 

An  ill-looking  urchin  as  ever  was  born 
(As  Cunning  the  fellow  is  known), 

Whom  even  his  mother  regarded  with 

scorn, 
And  never  was  willing  to  own. 

A  slight  look  of  Wisdom  he  bears  in  his 
face, 

Procures  him  a  deal  of  respect 
With  people  too  little,  discerning  to  trace 

The  vices  which  others  detect. 

For,  ever  his  motives  are  sordid   and 

vile, 

And  ever  his  methods  are  mean  ; 
And  thus,  in  despite  of  his  treacherous 

smile, 
The  mind  of  the  father  is  seen. 


THE  SULTAN  AND  THE  OWLS. 

AN    ARABIAN    TALE. 


THE    Sultan,   Mahmoud,  in    his    early 

reign, 
By  bootless  foreign  wars  reduced  the 

nation, 

Till  half  his  faithful  followers  were  slain, 
And  nil  the  land  was  filled  with  deso- 
lation. 


The    Sultan's  Vizier,  saddened  at  the 

heart 

To  see  at  every  turn  some  new  disas- 
ter, 

Essayed  in  vain,  by  counsel  and  by  art, 
To  stay  the  folly  of  his  royal  master. 


The  Vizier,  deeply  versed  in  legil  lore, 
In  state  affairs  'the  Sultan's  chief  re- 
liauce, 

10 


Had  found,  besides,  some  leisure  to  ex- 
plore 

In  learne'd  books  the  mysteries  of  sci- 
ence. 


With    other   matters    of   the    graver 

sort, 
He  knew  to  judge  men's  fancies  by 

their  features ; 

And  understood,  according  to  report, 
The  hidden  language  of  the  feath- 
ered creatures. 


One    pleasant    evening,    on    an    aged 

tree, 
The  while  within  a  wood  the  twain 

were  walking, 
The  Sultan  and  the  Vizier  chanced  to 

see 

A  pair  of  solemn  owls  engaged  in  talk- 
ing. 


The  Sidtan  asked  : ,  "  What  is  it  that 

they  say  1  " 
And  fain  would  know  what  the  debate 


The 


portended ; 
Vizier  answered  :    "  Sire,   excuse 


me,  pray, 

I  fear  your  Highness  would  be  much 
offended." 


"  Nay,"  said  the  Sultan,  "  whatsoe'er  it 

be 

These  heralds  of  Minerva  may  be  sav- 
ing, 

Repeat  it,  Vizier,  faithfully  to  me ; 
There 's    no  offence,   except   in  not 
obeying." 


"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "  these  sagacious 

fowls 

Have  met,  't  would  seem,  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour, 
To  fix   their  children's  wedding  ;   and 

the  owls 

Are  at   this  moment  talking  of  the 
dower. 


"  The  father  of  the  daughter,  speaking 

free, 

Says  :  '  What  are  your  conditions  » 
please  to  state  'em  1 ' 


146 


THE  PIN  AND   THE  NEEDLE. 


'Well,  twenty   ruined  villages,'  quoth 

he 

(The  father  of  the  son) ;  '  and  that '» 
ray  ultimatum  ! ' 


"  '  Done ! '  says  the  other,  '  only  under- 
stand 
I  'd  say  two  hundred  quite  as  soon  as 

twenty ; 
Thanks  to  good   Mahmoud  !  while  he 

rules  the  land 

We    shall    have    ruined   villages   in 
plenty ! ' " 


'T  is  said  the  Sultan,  stricken  with  re- 
morse, 
Restored  the  land  reduced  by  war  and 

pillage, 

And  ruled  so  wisely  in  his  future  course 
That  not  an  owl  could  find  a  ruined 
village. 


THE   PIN   AND   THE   NEEDLE. 


AN   APOLOGUE. 


A  PIN  and  Needle  in  a  basket  lay, 
Exempt  from  household  labors  ; 

And  so  they  fell  a-quarreling  one  day, 
Like  other  idle  neighbors. 


"  Pray,  what 's  the  use,"  the  saucy  Pin 
"  exclaimed, 

"  Of  such  as  yon,  you  noddy  ? 
Before  fine  ladies  you  must  be  ashamed 

To  show  your  headless  body  !  " 


"  Who  cares  about  your  brazen  little 

head  ? 

I  hold  it  in  derision  ; 
T  is    good   for    naught,"    the    Needle 

sharply  said, 
"  Without  an  eye  for  vision  !  " 


"  Tut !  "  said  the  other,  piqued  at  this 

reply, 

"  What  profit  do  yon  find  it, 
When  any  thread,  unless  you  mind  your 

eve, 
Can  in  a  moment  blind  it  ?  " 


"  If,"  said  the  Needle,  "  what  you  saj 
were  true, 

I  '11  leave  it  to  the  Thimble, 
If  I  am  not  as  oright  again  as  you, 

And  twenty  times  as  nimble." 

VI. 

"  Grant,"  said  the  Pin,  "  you  speak  the 

simple  truth, 

Beyond  the  slightest  cavil, 
You  '11   die  so  much   the   sooner,  —  in 

your  youth, 
Worn  out  with  toil  and  travel." 


"  Fie !  "  said  the  Needle,  "  to  my  Fate  I 

trust ; 

I  scorn  to  be  a  laggard, 
And  live  and  die,  like  you,  consumed 

with  rust, 
Misshapen,  old,  and  haggard  " ! 


Unhappy  boaster  !  for  it  came  to  pass 
The  Needle  scarce  had  spoken, 

When  she  was  taken  by  an   awkward 

lass, 
And  in  the  eye  was  broken ! 


Whereat  the  Pin  (which  meets  the  dam- 
sel's view) 

Around  the  neck  is  threaded, 
And  after  many  struggles  to  get  through, 

Is  suddenly  beheaded ! 


"  Well,  here  we  are !  "  the  Needle  hum- 
bly said  ; 

No  more  a  haughty  scorn  er 
Of  the  Poor  Pin  who  shared  her  lowly 

bed,— 
A  dust-heap  in  the  comer. 


"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  thinking  of  the 

past, 

"  I  wish  in  better  season 
We  might  have  learned  the  lesson  which 

at  last 
Has  brought  us  both  to  reason  ! " 


'Friend,"  said   the    Needle,   "we   ar« 

much  like  men, — 
Scornful  in  sunny  weather; 


BEN- AM  MI  AND  THE  FAIRIES. 


147 


And   only   miudful   they  are    brothers 

when 
They  're  in  the  dirt  together?  " 


BEN-AMMI  AND   THE  (JAIRIEj?. 

A    RABBINICAL    TALE. 

ONCE  on  a  time  a  stranger  came 
At  midnight  to  a  wealthy  man,  — 

Rabbi  Ben-Ammi  was  his  name,  — 
And  thus  his  salutation  ran  : 

"  Rabbi  !  I  have  a  child  at  home 
Who  on  the  morrow's  early  light 

Is   eight   days   old  ;    and    tiiou    must 

come 
And  celebrate  the  sacred  rite." 

Now  this  Ben-Ammi,  be  it  known, 
Though  few  indeed  were  rich  as  he, 

With  growing  wealth,  alas  !  had  grown 
A  miser  to  the  last  degree. 

And  yet  he  held,  it  should  be  told, 
His  office  in  such  pure  regard, 

With  i.ll  his  sordid  lust  of  gold, 
He  served  the  poor  without  reward. 

So  at  the  word  Ben-Ammi  rose, 

And  when  the  sacred  Law  was  read, 

Forth  in  the  night  the  Rabbi  goes, 
To  follow  where  the  stranger  led. 

The  night  was  dark,  and,  sooth  to  say, 
The  road  they  trod  was  rough  indeed  ; 

Yet  on  and  on  they  took  their  way, 
Where'er  the  stranger  chose  to"  lead. 

At  last  they  reached,  towards  the  dawn, 
A  rock  so  huge,  within  a  wood, 

A  hundred  steeds  could  not  have  drawn 
The  miirhty  stone  from  where  it 
stood. 

Now  mark  the  wonder  that  occurred  : 
The  stranger  touched  it  with  his 

hand, 

Spoke  to  himself  some  mystic  word, 
And  straight  it  moved  from  off  the 
land! 

And  now  the  wondering  Rabbi  found 
The  earth  was  open  for  a  space, 

With  steps  that  led  beneath  the  ground, 
As  if  to  some  mys'crious  place. 


Descending  these  with  prudent  care, 
And  going  far  aud  farther  down, 

They  reached  an  open  country,  where 
They    found,   at    length,   a    peopled 
town. 

Among  the  houses,  large  and  small, 
There  stood  a  palace  vast  and  grand, 

And  here,  within  a  spacious  hall, 
Were  fairy-folks,  on  every  hand. 

Now  going  where  the  woman  lay 

Whose  child  the  sacred  rite  required, 

The  stranger  bade  Ben-Amuii  stay, 
And,  bowing,  silently  retired. 

"  Rabbi,  pray  listen !  "  said  the  dame ; 

"  These  people  here  whom  thou  hast 

seen 
Thou  knowest  not  except  by  name,  — 

The  fairy  race  of  Mazakeen. 

"  Thev  are  not  human  like  ourselves 
(For  I,  indeed,  was  once  of  earth), 

But  queer,  uncouth,  uncanny  elves. 
Who  find  in  mischief  all  their  mirth. 

"  And  yet  they  have  religions  too ; 

All  kinds  of  creeds,  like  folks  above; 
And  he  who  rules  them  is  a  Jew, — 

My  husband  whom  I  dearly  love. 

"And  hence  it  was  he  made  so  bold 
To  bring  thee  hither  in  the  night, 

That    for    our  babe,   now  eight   days 

old, 
Thou  mayst  perform  the  holy  rite. 

"  He  stole  me  from  the  earth  away ; 

Of  tin's  I  do  not  now  complain : 
But  listen  well  to  what  I  say, 

If  thou  wouldst  e'er  return  again. 

"Beware  !  taste  neither  food  nor  drink 
Whilst  thou  art  here,  on  any  plea, 

Or  in  a  moment  thou  wilt  sink 
Thy  manly  form  to  -  what  you  see ! " 

The  king  returning  with  his  suite, 
The  holy  rite  was  duly  done, 

And  all  sat  down  to  drink  and  eat 
In  merry  glee,  —  save  only  one. 

Ben-Ammi  (fearing  the  abuse 

The  dame  had  borne)  did  not  partake 
Of  bread  or  wine,  but  made  excuse 

Of  three  days'  fast  for  conscience' 
sake. 


148 


THE  DISCONTENTED    WATER-CAUfUER. 


Whereat  the  king  was  moved  to  say, 
"  How  then  shall  I  reward  thy  task?  " 

"Let  me  return  to  earth  this  day," 
Ben-Amnii  said  ;  "  't  is  all  I  ask." 

"  Nay !  "  answered  he;  and  led  him  forth 
'Mid  heaps  of  gems  and  goldeu  ore. 

"  I  would  return  this  day  to  earth," 
Beu-Ammi  said  ;  "  I  ask  no  more  ! " 

Entering  another  room,  he  sees 

(And    marvels   much,    we  may  sup- 
pose) 

Along  the  walls,  a  thousand  keys 
In  bunclies,  hung  in  rusty  rows. 

While  gazing  at  each  brazen  line, 
Hen  Ammi  cries,  with  startled  tone: 

"This  hunch  so  much  resembles  mine 
That    I  should    take   them    for    my 
own !  " 

"  Thou  sayest  well,"  the  king  replied ; 

"  They  are   thine   own ;  't  is   here   I 

hold 
The  keys  of  men  who  basely  hide, 

And  do  not  use,  their  gathered  gold. 

"  Here,  take  the  keys !     Henceforth  thy 
heart 

Will  melt  in  pitv  for  the  poor  ; 
And  all  thou  givest  will  impart 

A  double  blessing  on  thy  store. 

"  Now,  wouldst  thou  go,  first  shut  thine 

eyes," 
Then    waves   his   hand    towards   the 

dome ; 

Up  and  uwav  Ben-Ammi  flies, 
And  quickly  finds  himself  at  home  ! 

And  from  that  day  Ben-Ammi  knew 
The  use  of  wealth,  and  understood 

(While  more  and  more  his  riches  grew) 
The  blesse'd  art  of  doing  good  ! 


THE   DISCONTENTED    WATER- 
CARKIER. 


A    TURKISH    TALE. 


gaudy 


"  THERE  goes  the  Vizier  and 

train  ! 

While  I,  poor  Hassan,  indigeut  and 
old, 


Must  carry  water;  well,  I  can't  explain 
Why  one  wears  rags,  another  cloth  of 
gold. 


"  The  single  diamond  that  bedecks  his 

sword 
Would  set   me  up  a  gentleman  for 

life; 

And  now,  God  bless  me  !  I  cannot  afford 
A   pair  of   scarlet   trousers  for   my 
wife ! 


"  With  half  the  money  that  his  servants 

waste 
Each  day  in  knick-knacks,  it  is  very 

clear 
My  family  might  live  like   kings,  and 

taste 
Roast  kid  for  dinner  fifty  times  a  year. 


"  It    may  be  just ;  I   don't  affirm  't  is 

not; 
Allah  is  Allah !  and  knows  what   is 

best ; 

But  if,  for  mine,  I  had  the  Vizier's  lot, 
'T  would   please   me   vastly   better,  I 
protest ! " 


So  murmured  Hassan,  vext  within  him- 
self 

To  see  the  Vizier  riding  proudly  by  ; 
When  suddenly  a  little  fairy  elf 
Appeared   before  him  with  a  twink- 
ling eye. 


"  Peace  !  "    said    the   Fairy ;  "  ere  thy 

speech  begun 
I  knew  to  what  tliv  present  thoughts 

incline  ; 
Choose   any   gift  thou  wilt  (but  only 

one), 

And,  by  my  kingdom,  it  shall  soon  be 
thine  !*" 


Poor  Hassan,  filled  with  joy,  at  once 

began  : 
"  I  fain  would  have  "  —  but  paused 

before  the  word 
Escaped  his  mouth ;   or,  sooth  to  say, 

the  man 

Had  named  the  jewel  on  the  Vizier's 
sword ! 


THE  DISCONTENTED   WATER-CARRIER. 


149 


What  next  he  thought  to  choose  was  all 

the  gold 
That  filled  the  Calif's  coffers;  then 

he  thought 
Of  Bagdad's  riches  ;   then  the  wealth 

untold 

Of  all  the  earth,  —  so  fast  his  fancy 
wrought ! 


Whate'er  three  ample  water-skins  could 

hold 
Was  soon  his  own  ;  but  this  contents 

him  not ; 
Unnumbered   coins    of    silver   and    of 

gold 

Invite  his  spade,  and  chain  him  to  the 
spot. 


Such  various  wishes  thronged  his  teem- 
ing brain, 
He  pondered  long,  until  the  Fairy's 

voice 
Showed  some  impatience,  and  the  man 

was  fain 

From  very  fear    to    hasten    in    his 
choice. 


But  halting  still  when  at  the  point  to 

tell 
His    final    wish,    the    Fairv    kindly 

told 
(To    aid    his   choosing)    of  a    hidden 

well 

Filled  to  the  brim  with  jewels  and  with 
gold. 


And  then  she  led  him  to  a  secret  grot, 
Where,  underneath  a  stone,  the  treas- 
ure lies, 
Removed  the  slab  that  sealed  the  sacred 

spot, 

And  showed  the  riches  to  his  wonder- 
ing eyes. 


"  Take  what  you  will  of  this  exhaustless 

store ; 
But,  mark  you,  if  you  pause  to  dine 

or  sup, 
Your  work  is  finished ;  you  can  have  no 

more; 

The  stone  will  move  and  close  the 
coffer  up." 


Charmed  with  the  sight   that  met  his 

dazzled  gaze, 
He    stood    enrapt ;   then  turned    to 

thank  the  fay 

For  so  much  bounty ;  but,  to  his  amaze, 
The  nimble  sprite  unseen   hud  fled 
away. 


i  "Another   hour   of   digging    will   suf- 
fice," 

Quoth  Hassan,  delving  with  increas- 
ing greed. 

i  "  Well,  by  the  Prophet,  here   is  some- 
thing nice ! 

Rubies  and  diamonds !  this  is  wealth 
indeed  ! " 


And    so   he    dug     (remembering    the 

hint 
The  Fairy  gave  him)   till  his  busy 

spade 
Had  piled  a  mound  so  vast,  the  Calif's 

mint 

Could  scarce  have  matched  the  glit- 
tering heap  he  made. 

XVII. 

And  yet  he  toils,  as  greedy  as  before. 
"  A  little  more  !  "  said  Hassan,  "  ere 

the  sun 
Sinks  in  the  west,  —  some  fifty  shovel* 

more, 

And  this  day's  work,  a   brave  one ! 
will  be  done  !  " 

XVIII. 

Poor  Hassan!  heedless  of  the  fading 

day, 
He  wrought    at    night    as    he    had 

wrought  at  noon  ; 
Weary    and    faint,    but    impotent    to 

stay 

His  eager  hand  beneath  the  rising 
moon. 


"  A  little  more  !  "  the  miser  said,  "and  I 
Will  make  an  end."     He  raised  his 

weary  hand 
To  delve  again;  then  dropt  it  with  a 

sigh,  — 

So  weak   and  worn  that    he    could 
hardly  stand. 


150 


MURILLO   AND  HIS  SLAVE. 


Fatal  Ambition  !  from  his  golden  bed 
He  tries  in  vain  to  reach  the  giddy 

height ; 
The  shining   heap   comes  tumbling  on 

his  head, 

And  shuts  poor  Hassan  in  eternal 
night ! 


THE   MILLER   AND    HIS    AD- 
VISERS. 


AN   APOLOGUE. 

OF  all  the  fables  quaint  and  old 
By  j£sop  or  by  Phcedrus  told, 
For  wit  or  wisdom  none  surpass 
That  of  the  Miller  and  his  Ass ; 
Which    shrewd    Malherbe    of    modern 

France 

Invented,  —  meaning  to  advance 
This    wholesome    truth,    for   old    and 

young 

(Here  rendered  in  our  English  tongue), 
That  one  —  however  cheap  the  price  — 
May  take  too  much  of  "  good  advice." 

A  miller,  who  had  thrived  so  well 
That  he  had  got  an  ass  to  sell, 
Set  forth,  one  morning,  for  the  fair, 
Attended  by  his  youthful  heir, 
While,  trudging  on  with  solemn  mien, 
The  precious  donkey  walked  between. 

At  length  they  meet  upon  the  way 
Some  fellows,  less  polite  than  gay, 
Who  laugh,    as  if   they'd  split  their 

sides, 
That  neither  son  nor  father  rides. 

The  hint  suffices ;  in  a  crack 
The  boy  bestrides  the  donkey's  back, 
When,  presently,  three  merchants  came 
Along  the  road,  who  all  exclaim  : 
"  Get  off,  you  lout !  you  selfish  clod, 
To  let  your  aged  father  plod 
On  foot,  while  you  the  ass  bestride  ; 
Dismount,  and  let  your  father  ride  !  " 

The  Miller  does  as  they  desire, 
Down  comes  the  son,  up  gets  the  sire, 
And  so  they  go  until  they  meet 
A  group  of  damsels  in  the  street, 
Who,  all  in  chorus,  scream  and  shout : 
"  For  shame  !  that  one  so  big  and  stout 
Should  ride  at  ease  without  a  care 
About  his  young  and  tender  heir." 
"  Gad !  "  says  the  Miller,  "  their  advice 
Seems  mainly  wise  ; "  and  in  a  trice 


(Though  Jack  esteems  it  hardly  kind) 
He  bids  the  lad  get  up  behind. 

Alas  !  the  world  is  hard  to  suit ; 
The  Miller  now  is  called  a  brute 
By  all  he  meets  upon  the  road 
Who  mark  the  donkey's  double  load. 
In  sooth,  the  Miller  aud  his  heir 
Were  quite  as  much  as  he  could  bear, 
And  so,  at  length,  the  careful  twain 
Took  up  the  weary  ass  amain, 
And  to  the  mirth  of  all  beholders, 
Bore    off  the  beast   upon  their  shoul 

ders. 

Alas !  for  all  the  weight  they  bore, 
They  still  were  censured  as  before; 
The  captious  rabble  followed  after 
With  sneers,  and  jests,  and  shouts  oi 

laughter. 

"  The  biggest  ass,"  one  fellow  said, 
"  Is  clearly  not  the  quadruped !  " 
Another  mockingly  advised 
To  have  a  pet  so  highly  prized 
Kept  in  the  parlor  from  the  cold, 
Or,  for  a  breastpin,  set  in  gold. 

Stunned  with   the    clamor  of    their 

mirth, 

He  drops  the  donkey  to  the  earth, 
"  Zooks !     they    are    right,"    he    sigh* 

"  Alas ! 

'T  is  clear  enough  I  am  an  ass, 
As  stupid  as  this  shaggy  brute, 
Essaying  thus  all  minds  to  suit. 
Egad !  despite  each  meddling  elf, 
I  '11  try  henceforth  to  please  myself." 


MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE. 

A    LEGEND   OF    SPAIN. 

"  WHOSE  work  is  this  ?  "  Murillo  said, 
The  while  lie  bent  his  eager  gaze 

Upon  a  sketch  (a  Virgin's  head) 
That  filled  the  painter  with  amaze. 

Of  all  his  pupils,  —  not  a  few,  — 
Marveling,   't  would   seem,    no    less 

than  he ; 

Each  answered  that  he  nothing  knew 
As  touching  whose  the  sketch  might 
be. 

This  much  appeared,  and  nothing 
more  : 

The  piece  was  painted  in  the  night. 
"  And  yet,  by  Jove  !  "  Murillo  swore, 

"  He  has  no  cause  to  fear  the  light. 


HASSAN  A.VD   THE  ANGEL. 


151 


"  'Tis   something    crude,  and    lacks,  I 
own, 

That  finer  finish  time  will  teach ; 
But  genius  here  is  plainly  shown, 

Ami  art  beyond  the  common  reach. 

"  Sebastian  !  "  (  turning  to  his  slave.) 
"  Who  keens  this  room  wheu  I'm  in 

hed  ? " 
"  'T  is  1,    Senor."      "  Now,  mark  you, 

knave ! 
Keep  better  watch,"  the  master  said  ; 

"  For  if  this  painter  comes  again, 
And  y»u,  wnile  dozing,  let  him  slip, 

Excuses  will  be  all  in  vain,  — 

Remember, you  shall  feel  the  whip!  " 

Now  while  Sebastian  slept,  he  dreamed 
That  to  his  dazzled  vision  came 

The  Blessed  Lady  —  so  she  Deemed  — 
And  crowned  him  with  the  wreath  of 
Fame. 

Whereat  ihe  startled  slave  awoke, 
And  at  his  picture  wrought  away 

So  rapt  that  ere  the  spell  was  broke, 
The  dark  \\as  fading  into  day. 

"  My  beautiful !  "  th'i  artist  cried  ; 
"Thank   God,   I   have   uof,  lived   in 

Hark  !    'T  is  Murillo  at\is  side  ; 
'1  he  man  has  grown  a  slave  ;-g:iin. 

"  Who  is  vour  master  1  —  answer  me  !  " 
'"T   is' you,"    replied  the    faltering 

lad.' 
"  Nay,    't  is  not    that,    I   mean,"   said 

he ; 

"  Tell    me,   what   teaeher    have  you 
had  ?  " 

"  Yourself,    Senor.      When    you    have 
taught 

Th;'se  gentlemen.  I  too  have  heard 
The  ilailv  lesson,  and  have  sought 

To  treasure  every  golden  word." 

"  What  say  you,  boys  ? "    Murillo  cried, 
Smiling  in  sign  o'f  fond  regard, 

"  Is  this  a  case  —  pray  you  decide  — 
For  punishment,  or  for  reward  ?  " 

"Reward,  Senor!"  th<>y  nil  exclaimed, 
And  each  proposed  some  costly  toy.' 

But  still,  whatever  gift  was  named, 
Sebastian  showed  no  gleam  of  joy. 


Whereat  one  said  :  "  He  's  kind  to-day  ; 

Ask   him   your   Freedom."     With  a 

groan 
The  boy  fell  on  his  knees  :    "  Nay,  nay  I 

My  father's  freedom, —  not  my  own! " 

"  Take     both  !  "    the     painter     cried. 

"  Henceforth 
A    slave    no    more,  —  be    thou    my 

sou. 

Thy  Art  had  failed,  with  all  its  worth, 
Of  what  thy  Heart  this  day  has  won ! " 

L'ENVOI. 

The  traveler,  loitering  in  Seville, 
And  gazing  at  each  pictured  saint, 

May  see  Murillo's  genius  still. 

And   learn   how  well  his    son   could 
paint. 


HASSAN  AND  THE  ANGEL. 

THE    Calif   Hassan,  —  so  the    tale   is 

told, — 

In  honors  opulent  and  rich  in  gold, 
One  New  Year's  Day  sat  in  a  palm-tree's 

shade, 
And,  on  a  stone  that  lay  beside  him, 

m  ide 

An  inventory,  —  naming  one  by  one 
His  benefactions ;  all  that  he  had  done 
Throughout    the   year;    and  thus  the 

items  ran : 

"  Five  bags  of  gold  for  mosques  in  Ispa- 
han ; 

For  caravans  to  Mecca,  seven  more  ; 
For  amulets  to  pious  people,  four; 
Three  for  the  Ramazan;    and   two  to 

pay 

The  holy  dervishes,  who  thrice  a  d'ty 
In   prayer  besought   the   safety  of  my 

soul ; 

Item,  one  loaf  of  bread,  a  weekly  dole 
To  a  poor  widow  with  a  sickly  child." 
The  Calif  read  the  reckoning  o'er,  and 

smiled 
With    conscious    pleasure  at  the  vast 

amount, 

When,  lo!  a  hand  sweeps  over  the  ac- 
count. 

With    sudden    anger,    Hassan    looked 

around, 
And   saw  an    angel    standing    on    the 

ground, 


152 


THE   GOLD-FINGERED  BRAHMIN. 


With  wings  of  gold,  and  robe  of  purest 

white. 
"  I  am  God's  messenger,  employed  to 

write 
Within  this  book  the  pious  deeds  of 


I    have    revised    thy   reckoning;    look 

again." 

So  lo  tiie  man  the  angel  s-pake  aloud, 
Then  slowly  vanished  in  a  rosv .cloud. 
The  Calif,  looking,  saw  upon  th<;  stone 
The  final  item  standing  there  alone, 


FABLES  AND  FAIRY  TALES. 


THE  TWO  ANGELS. 


AN   ALLEGORY. 

Two    wandering    angels,    Sleep     and 
Death, 

Once  met  in  sunny  weather : 
And  while  the  twain  were  taking  breath, 

They  held  discourse  together. 

Quoth  Sleep  (whose  face,  though  twice 

as  fair, 

Was  strangely  like  the  other's,  — 
&u  like,  iu  sooth,  that  anywhere 

Thev  might  have   passed  for  broth- 
ers): 

"A  busy  life  is  mine,  1  trow; 

Would  I  were  omnipresent ! 
80  fast  and  far  have  I  to  <ro ; 

And  yet  my  work  is  pleasant. 

"  I  c;tst  my  potent  poppies  forth, 
And  lo  !  —  the  cares  that  cumber 

The  toiling,  suffering  son<  of  Earth 
Are  drowned  in  sweetest  slumber. 

'•  The  student  rests  his  weary  brain, 
And  waits  the  fresher  morrow  ; 

I  ease  the  patient  of  his  pain. 
The  mourner  of  his  sorrow. 

"  I  bar  the  gates  where  cares  abide, 

And  open  Pleasure's  portals 
To  visioned  joys ;  thus,  far  mid  wide, 

I  earn  the  praise  of  mortals." 

*  Alas  !  "  replied  the  other,  "  mine 

Is  not  a  task  so  grateful ; 
Howe'er  to  mercy  I  incline, 

To  mortals  I  am  hateful. 


'  They  call  me  '  Kill-joy,'  every  one, 
And  speak  iu  sharp  detraction 

Of  all  I  do;  yet  have  1  done 
Full  many  a  kindly  action." 

"  True !  "  answered  Sleep,  "  but  all  th« 
while 

Thine  office  is  berated, 
'T  is  only  by  the  weak  an  I  vile 

That  tliou  art  feared  and  hated. 

"And  though  thy  work  on  earth  has 
given 

To  ail  a  shade  of  sadness ; 
Consider  —  every  saint  in  heaven 

KemembersThee  with  gladness  !  " 


THE     GOLD-FINGERED     BRAH- 
MIN. 

A    HINDOO    TALE. 

A  FAMOUS  merchant,  who  had  made 
A  fine  estate  by  honest  trade 
With  foreign  conn  tries,  —  by  mischance 
(The  failure  of  a  firm  in  Fran.-e 
And  several  cargoes  lo>t  at  sea), 
Became  as  pour  as  poor  could  be ; 
Of  all  his  riches  snvin«r  naught, 
Except,  indeed,  the  pleasing  thought 
Of  generous  deeds  in  better  days, 
Which  some  remembered  to  his  praise. 
Of  these,  a  Brahmin,  who  had  known 
The  merchant  ere  his  wealth  had  flown. 
And  how  he  helped  ihe  sick  and  poor, 
Entered,  one  day,  his  open  door, 
And   said.    "  My   friend !  I    know  you 

well; 
Your  former  state ;  and  wha.  befell 


THE  FARMER  AND  THE  MAGIC  RING. 


153 


That  all  was  lost ;  and  well  I  know 
Your  noble  life,  and  fain  would  show 
{Since    I    have    power  —  Heaven    be 

adored !) 

How  all  your  wealth  may  be  restored. 
Now  please  attend  :  whene'er  you  see 
A  Brahmin  who  resembles  me 
In  looks  and  dress  (and  such  an  one 
Will  enter  here  at  set  of  sun), 
Just    strike    him    on    the    forehead  — 

thrice ; 

And  lo  !  his  fingers,  i>i  a  trice, 
Will  turn  to  solid  ^ild  !     Of  these 
Cut  off  as  many  as  you  please 
(The  ten  will  make  a  goodly  sum), 
And  ilms  the  Brahmin-form  will  come 
Whenever  you  have  need  of  gold. 
Consider  well  what  I  have  told  !  " 

With  this  the  Brahmin  went  away, 
And,  sure  enough,  at  close  of  day, 
A  stranger,  like  the  other,  came,  — 
So  like,  indeed,  he  seemed  ihe  same, — 
And   sat    him   down;     and,    quick    as 

thought, 
The   blows  are    struck,   the  charm  is 

wrought, 
And  all  his  lingers  turn  to  gold  ! 

0  wondrous  sight !  —  And  now  behold 
The  happy  merchant  rich  once  more 
As  iu  his  thrifty  days  of  )ore  ! 

A  barber,  curious  to  know 
Whence  all  this  sudden  wealth  might 

flow, 

By  watching  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
The  mauic  Brahmin  brought  to  light; 
At  last,  he  thought  beyond  a  doubt 
He  'd  found  the  golden  secret  out ; 
And  straight  he  called  three  Brahmins 

And    bade    them    sit:    "For    so    I'll 

win," 

The  fellow  reasoned,  "  thrice  as  much 
As  if  a  single  man  I  touch  : 
The  more  the  men,  the  more  the  gold ! 

1  '11  have  as  much  as  I  can  hold 
In  all  niv  pockets,  at  a  blow  !  " 

But  when  he  struck  the  Brahmins,  lo  ! 
Thev  turned  not  into  golden  ores, 
But  turned  —  the  barber  out  of  doors  ! 
And,  angry  at  his  scurvy  trick, 
Each  beat 'him  soundly  with  a  stick  ! 


MORAL. 

To  all  who  read  this  pleasant  tale, 
The  barber's  fale  may  serve  to  teach, 


How  sadly  imitators  fail 
Who    aim    at   things   beyond  their 
reach ! 


THE  FARMER  AND  THE  MAGIC 
RING. 

A   FAIRY    TALE. 

IN  grateful  reward  of  some  generous 

thing 
That   an  honest  young  farmer   had 

done 
To  a  wandering  Fairy,  she  gave  him  a 

ring 
That  was  set  with  a  magical  stone, 

"  Pray  take  it,  and  wear  it  as  long  as 

you  live," 

Said  the  Fay,  as  the  present  she  gave ; 
"  'T  is  a  wonderful  ring,  and  is  potent 

to  give 
Whatever  its  wearer  may  crave. 

"  One  wish,  and  no  more,  it  is  certain  to 

bring ; 

Whatever  you  have  in  your  thought, 
You  have  only  to  wish,  —  with  a  turn 

of  the  ring,  — 
And  presto !  the  man-el  is  wrought ! " 

Now,  what  should  he  wish  ?  —  it  was  not 

very  clear , 

And  so  lie  consulted  his  spouse  ; 
Who  quickly  replied,  "  Good  gracious ! 

my  dear ! 
Just  wish  for  a  couple  of  cows !  " 

"  Nay,  —  nay  !  that  were  foolish ! "  the 

farmer  replies ; 

"  The  cows  I  can  earn  in  a  year, 
By  the  work  of  my  hands ;  pray,  let  us 

be  wise, 
And  wish  to  some  purpose,  my  dear ! " 

"  Well,  —  wish  for  more  land  ! "  said  the 

voluble  dame ; 
"  There  's   a  meadow  adjoining  our 

farm 

You  long  have  been  wanting  ;  that  sure- 
ly were  game 
Well  worthy  your  magical  charm  !  " 

"  Nay,  —  nay  !  "  said  the  farmer ;  "  thati 

too,  I  can  buy 
In  a  couple  of  years,  at  the  most ; 


154 


THE   GRUMBLING  PEASANTS. 


Something  bettei  than  that  we  must  find 

ere  we  try 
What  virtue  this  bauble  may  boast. 

"  One  wish,  recollect,  is  allowed,  —  and 

no  more ; 

In  waiting  there 's  surelv  no  harm  ; 
And  then,  how  the  fault  we  should  ever 

deplore 
If  we  foolishly  squander  the  charm ! " 

And  so  —  it  is  told  —  to  the  dav  when 

he  died 

By  talent  and  labor  alone 
The  farmer  grew  wealthy,  nor  ever  had 

tried 
A  wish  with  the  magical  stone  ! 


"  O  fool  of  a  farmer  !  "  how  many  will 

"  Who",  having  so  potent  a  ring, 
Just    stupidly    threw    the     advantage 

away !  — 

Was  ever  so  silly  a  thing  ?  "  — 
But,  from  wishing  amiss,  what  mortal 

can  tell 

What  evil  mii^ht  chance  to  befall  ? 
Or  know  th:it  in  wishing  his  choice  were 

as  well 
As  not  to  have  chosen  at  all  ? 


THE    GRUMBLING   PEASANTS. 


A    ROMAN   TALE. 

ONE  summer's  day  —  the  tale  is  told  — 
An  honest  Peasant,  poor  and  old, 
Worked  in  the  meadow  with  his  wife, 
When  thus  she  spoke :  "  Well,  on  my 

life ! 

*T  is  precious  hard  that  you  and  I 
Must  sweat  beneath  the  "burning  sky, 
Like  galley  slaves,  for  paltry  pay, 
And  all  because  —  alas  the  day  !  — 
Of  Adam's  fall !     But  for  his  sin 
And  Kve's,  how  happy  we  had  been  ! " 
*'  True !  "  said  the  Peasant ;  "  I  believe, 
Had  I  been  Adam,  you  been  Eve, 
No  foolish  fancies  would  have  come 
To  drive  us  from  our  Eden-home  ; 
But  all  the  race,  this  very  day, 
Had  in  the  Garden  been  at  play  !  " 
The    Count,    their    master,    standing 

utar 


(Though  quite  unnoticed),   chanced  to 

hear 
Their  wise   discourse  ;   and,   laughing, 

said  : 

"  Well,  my  good  friends,  suppose  instead 
Of  Paradise,  my  mansion  there 
Were  yours  to-day  ;  with  princeiv  fare 
for  food  to  eat  and  wine  to  drink, 
Would  that  content  ye,  do  ye  think?" 

"  Ah  !  that  were  Paradise  indeed  ! 
What  more,"  they  cried,  "  could  mor- 
tals need  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  the  Count  replied; 
"  But  that  your  virtue  may  be  tried, 
Remember,  on  the  table,  served 
With  many  a  dish,  there  's  one  reserved; 
Partake  of  every  one  you  .--ee 
Save  chat,  which  (like'the  Fatal  Tree) 
Just  in  the  centre  I  will  place. 
Beware  of  that !  lest  Adam's  rase 
Should  be  your  own,  and  straight  yon 

go 

Back  to  your  sickle,  rake,  and  hoe  !  " 
Soon  to  the  castle  they  were  led, 
And  by  a  t;ible  richly  spread, 
As  for  a  baechaual  carouse, 
Behold  the  Peasant  and  his  spouse  ! 
"  See  !  "  said  the  woman,  "  what  a  treat! 
Far  more,  I  'm  sure,  than  we  can  eat; 
With  such  excess  we  well  may  spare 
The  dish  that's  in  the  centre  there  !  " 
"  Who  cares  for   that  ?  "   the   Peasant 

said; 

(While  eagerly  the  couple  fed 
From  all  the  plates   that  round   them 

lay.) 

"  My  dear  !  I  wonld  n't  look  that  way ! " 
"  No  harm  in  looking  !  "  said  the  wife; 
"  I  would  n't  touch  it  for  inv  life." 
But  in  their  minds,  at  length,  there  grew 
A  strong  desire  for  something  new  ; 
Whereat  the  woman  said,  "  I  wish 
I  knew  what's  hidden  in  that  dish  1" 
"And,  to  be  sure,"  the  man  replied, 
"  Merely  to  look  was  not  denied !  " 
"  And  even  touching  it,"  said  she, 
"  Were  no  great  harm,  it  seems  to  me; 
Of  course,  I  will  not  lift  the  lid  ; 
And  who  would  know  it  if  I  did  ?  " 
She  suits  the  action  to  the  word, 
When  from  the  dish  a  little  bird 
(The  Count  had  slyly  hidden  there) 
Came  rushing  forth  into  the  air, 
And  through  the  open  window  flew; 
And  so  it  was  the  master  knew 
What   they  had   done.     "Away!"  h« 

said; 
"  Back  to  the  field  and  earn  your  bread 


THE  ROSE  AND   THE  FAIRY. 


155 


As  yon  were  wont,  —  and  ne'er  com- 
plain 
Of  Adam  and  of  Eve  again  !  " 


THE  LITTLE  GLASS  SHOE. 

A    NORTHLAND    FAIRY    TALE. 

"  Ho  !    ho  !    ha !    ha !  —  what   is   it  I 
view  ?  " 

John  Wilde,  the  plowman,  cried, 
As  lie  hit  his  f.*>t  on  a  little  glass  shoe 

That  lay  on  the  mountain-side  • 
"  Some  fay  has  lost  it,  there  's  never  a 
dou!)t, 

And  ah  !  how  lucky  for  me  ! 
The  owner  will  soon  lie  roaming  about 

To  find  where  his  shoe  may  be. 
And  so,''  said  John,  "  I  '11  carrv  it  home, 

That 's  just  what  I  will  do,  " 
And  lie  will  piy  me  a  pretty  sum 

Who  buys  this  little  glass"  shoe !" 
And  he  spread  the  story  far  and  near, 

For  many  a  mile  around, 
That  the  fairv  folk  might  surely  hear 

Who  the  little  glass  shoe  had  found. 
And  soon  to  John  a  merchant  came, 

Who  saH  he  had  heard  the  news ; 
And  would  the  plowman  sell  the  same 

To  a  dealer  in    ittK1  glass  shoes? 
And  he  offered  John  a  pretty  price 

For  the  shoe  that  he  had  found  ; 
But  Jolin  replied  it  was  much  too  nice 

To  go  for  a  hundred  pound. 
Then  the  merchant   offered  a  hundred 
more. 

But  the  plowman  still  said,  "  Nay; 
The-  man  who  buys  my  shoe,"  he  swore, 

"  Will  dearlv  have  to  pay. 
Th  re  's  not  so  pretty  a  >hoe  on  earth 

To  cover  a  lady's  toe?  ; 
And  then  I  happen  to  know  its  worth- 
Far  better  than  yon  suppose. 
The  shi>e  is  one  of  wondrous  price 

(That  nobody  can  deny), 
And  yet,  perchance,  there's  some  de- 
'  vice 

May  serve  the  shoe  to  buy. 
If  voii  arc  able  to  show  me,  now, 

When  I  am  plowinir  my  field, 
Th:it  every  furrow  behind  my  plow 

A  shining  dncsit  may  yield,  — 
Whv,  then  to  you  the  shoe  I  '11  give 

Else  I  will  keep  it  myself,  — 
For  an  ornament,  as  long  as  I  live, 

To  grace  my  mantel-shelf  !  " 


And  so  it  was  the  fairy  bought 

('T  was  he  in  a  merchant's  guise  !) 
His    own    glass    shoe,    and,   quick    as 
thought. 

Away  to  his  home  he  hies. 
And  off  went  John,  with  much  delight, 

As  fast  as  he  could  go, 
By  trial  to  prove  that  very  night 

If  the  charm  would  work  or  no. 
And  he  found  the  fain's  word  was  true, 

As  he  promised  in  the  trade ; 
For  a  shining  ducat  came  to  view- 
In  every  furrow  he  made  ! 
And  again  next  morning  off  he  went  — 

Nor  scarce  to  eat  could  stop  — 
To  plow  again,  —  he  was  to  intent 

'lo  gather  his  golden  crop. 
And   so    he    plowed,  anil   plowed,  and 
plowed, 

And  scarce  for  slumber  ceased; 
No  wonder  John  was  growing  proud, 

So  fast  his  wealth  ii. creased ! 
And  still  he  plowed  by  day  and  night, 

When  none  were  looking  on, 
Till  he  seemed,  indeed,  a  sorry  wight, 

He  grew  so  lean  and  wan  !  — 
And  still,  when  none    his  work  might 
view, 

He  plowed  by  night  and  day ; 
And  still  the  more  his  riches  grew, 

The  more  he  pined  awny. 
Until,  at  last,  his  work  was  stopped, 

And  i lie  plowman,  where  was  he?  — 
Down  in  the  furrow,  alas !  he  dropped, 

As  dead  as  dead  could  be  J 


Though  good  is  gold,  to  have  and  hold, 

My  story  makes  it  clear 
Who  sells'himself  for  sordid  pelf 

Has  bou'-ht  it  much  too  dear ! 


THE  ROSE  AND  THE  FAIRY. 

AN    ORIENTAL    TALE. 

A  TIXV  Fairy,  of  the  sort 

Who  love  in  flowery  fields  to  sport, 

One  dewy  eve  espied  a  Rose 

So  fair  and  fragrant,  straight  he  goes 

And  nestles  in  her  bosom  ;  dips 

Deep  in  her  leaves  his  elfin  lips, 

And  sucks  the  virgin  honey  thence; 

Regaling  thus  his  dainty  S'.'nse 

Of  taste  and  odor  rare,  until 


156 


LOVE  AND   CARE. 


The  Sybarite  has  drunk  his  fill ! 

"  Sweet  blossom  ! "  sighed  the  grateful 

Fay, 

"  Thy  bounty  I  would  fain  repay. 
The  fairest  flowers  that  deck  the  field 
Or  garden,  all  to  thee  must  yield 
In  loveliness;  but  that  the  Queen 
Among  her  subjects  may  be  seen 
E'en  in  the  dark  and  envious  night 
(That  hides  thy  beauty  from  the  sight), 
This  little  Lanlern  shall  be  thine 
To  show,  at  niiiht,  thy  form  divine  !  " 
With  modest  thanks  the  Rose  receives 
The  Glow-worm's  light  upon  her  leaves, 
Then  turns  to  list  a  thrilling  lay 
That  witched  her  maiden  heart  away  ! 
For  Philomela  tilled  the  grove, 
Just  then,  with  such  a  song  of  love 
For  "  Rosa,  fairest  of  the  fair," 
The  m aid  was  won,  ere  half  aware 
The  siuger,  while  he  bent  to  bless 
The  trembler  with  a  soft  caress, 
Had  snatched  her  lamp,  —  the  rogue! 

"  and  gone 
And  left  her  in  the  dark  — alone! 

L'ENVOI. 

The  Glow-worm  lantern  (we  are  told 
By  wise  expositors)  isr/old; 
Which  serves  to  set  in  fairest  light 
The  charms    that    else    were    lost    to 

sight. 

Moreover,  it  is  plain  to  see 
The  cunning  Nightingale  is  he, 
The     smooth-tongued    knave,    whose 

wicked  art 

For  lucre  cheats  the  loving  heart, 
That,  like  poor  Rose,  is  doomed  to  prove 
How  Cmjl  may  feign  the  voice  of  Love  ! 


THE  TWO  SPARROWS. 

FKOM   THE    FRENCH. 

Two  sparrows,  votaries  of  Love, 
The  Mars  and  Venus  of  the  grove, 
Had    been,  for  years,   such   constant 

mates, 

You  would  have  sworn  the  very  Fates 
Were  impotent  to  break  the  bond 
That  joined  a  pair  so  true  and  fond. 
Together  still  they  sought  their  food  ; 
Together  played  in  field  or  wood  ; 
Togeiher  built  the  coseynest 
That  served  for  shelter  and  for  rest ; 
Together  fought  the  feathered  foes 


With  whom  they  came  to  words  or 

blows ; 

In  fine,  they  lived,  as  lovers  ought, 
Without  a  single  selfish  thought, 
Save  such  as  might  concern  the  twain, 
Their  mutual  joy  or  mutual  pain. 

At  last,  one  day,  they  chanced  to  get 
Their  feet  entangled  in  a  net, 
(A  vagrant  boy  had  spread  the  snare 
To  catch  and  keep  the  pretty  pair  !) 
And  soon,  despite  their  noisy  rage, 
They  both  were  prisoned  iu'a  cage  ; 
Where  —  much   I  grieve    the    tale  to 

tell  — 

A  sorry  scandal  now  befell : 
They  scold,  recriminate,  and  fight, 
Like  arrant  foes,  from  morn  till  night; 
Until,  at  length,  the  wretched  birds 
In  cruel  acts  and  bitter  words 
The  very  furies  emulate,  — 
And  all  their  love  is  turned  to  hate! 


Full  many  a  couple  come  to  strife 
And  hatred  in  connubial  life, 
Whose  days  of  courtship  promised  fair 
As  those  of  this  unhappy  pair  ; 
But,  like  the  sparrows  in  my  tale, 
When  trouble  comes,  their  tempers  fail ; 
They  blame  each  other  for  the  fate 
Which  both  should  strive  to  mitigate; 
With  patience  helping  to  endure 
The  ills  that  kindness  fails  to  cure ! 


LOVE  AND  CARE. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

A  YOUTH  was  traveling  on  a  summer's 

day, 

When  suddenly  a  stranger 
Appeared  before  him,  saying,  "  Sir  your 

way 
Is  rough  and  full  of  danger ; 

"  And   I  —  you  've  heard   of  me ;   my 

name  is  Care  — 
Intend,  for  your  protection. 
To   dog  your    steps,   and   watch   yon. 

everywhere, 
With  keen  but  kind  inspection  ! " 

A  surlv  wight  he  seemed ;  and  so  the 

"lad. 
Who  wished  not  his  assistance, 


DEATH  INSURANCE. 


157 


Stept  off  with  quickened  pace;  while, 

flow  and  sad, 
Care  followed  at  a  distance, 

And   soon   the  youth  espies  along  the 
way, 

Tripping  in  wanton  measure, 
A  dashing  damsel,  very  fine  and  gay  ; 

Her  name  (she  said,  was  Pleasure. 

"  Come !  follow  me  !  "  the  merry  maiden 

cried, 

With  peuls  of  silver  laughter; 
"  I  will,  —  I   will!"    the  joyful   youth 

replied, 
And  gayly  followed  after. 

Alas !  she  led  him  such  a  crazy  dance, 
He  presently  grew  tired,  — 

And  stopt,   at  length,  —  unwilling   to 

advance 
Through  paths  so  much  bemired. 

To  Pleasure's  ways  no  longer  now  in- 
clined, 

He  offered  small  resistance 
When  Care  came  up  (for  he  was  close 

behind) 
And  tendered  his  assistance. 

But  soon  escaping  from  his  hated  guide, 
He  spied  a  pensive  maiden 

Of  wondrous  beauty,  —  bv  a  fountain's 

side,  — 
With  sprigs  of  myrtle  laden. 

"OLord"  he  cried,  (for  truly  it  was 
she!) 

"  I  beg  vour  kind  endeavor 
From  this  detested  Care  to  set  me  free,  — 

And  keep  me  so  forever  !  " 

"  Nay  ! "  said  the  maid  ;  "  and  yet  my 
votaries  swear, 

My  eh.-irms  are  so  beguiling, 
That  in  my  cheering  presence  even  Care 

Has  got  a  trick  of  smiling !  " 


DEATH  INSURANCE. 

A    FABLE. 

A  MOUNTKBANK  whose  life  displayed 
Uncommon  genius  in  the  trade 
Of  getting  much  while  giving  naught 
(Except  a  deal  of  knavish  thought), 


Gave  out  through  all  the  country  round 
That  he  the  magic  art  had  found 
Of  teaching  Eloquence  to  all 
Who  chose  to  pay,  (the  fee  was  small !) 
Indeed,  the  rogue  declared,  his  plan 
Would  educate  the  dullest  man, 
Nay,  e'en  a  horse  or  ox  or  ass, 
Till  he  in  speaking  would  surpass 
Immo'tal  Tully  !  and  would  show- 
All  modern  arts  that  lawyers  know, 
Besides,  to  grace  a  brilliant  speech 
"  All  this  I  undertake  to  teach 
The  merest  dunce,  —  or  else,"  he  said, 
"  The  forfeiture  shall  be  my  head  !  " 

Of  course  »o  marvelous  a  thing 
Soon,   through    the    courtiers,   reached 

the  king ; 

Who,  having  called  the  charlatan 
Into  his  pr<  sence.  thus  began  : 
"  Well,  Sir  Professor,  I  have  heard 
Your    boasts,    and    take    you  at  your 

word. 

Between  us  be  it  now  agreed 
That  to  my  stable  you  proceed 
At  once,  and  thence  a  donkey  take, 
Of  whom  —  't  is  bargained — you  shall 

make 

An  orator  of  fluent  speech  ; 
Or,  failing  thus  the  brute  to  teach, 
You  shall  be  hanged  till  yon  are  dead  ! " 
"  A  bargain,  Sire  !  "  the  fellow  said  ; 
"And  ten  years'  time  shall  be  allowed ; 
It  is  but  fair."     The  monarch  bowed. 
"  And  now  my  fee  be  pleased  to  pay  !  " 
Then  takes  the  <rold  and  goes  away. 

A  courtier  whom  he  chanced  to  meet, 
A  fortnight  later,  in  the  street., 
Beiran  the  fellow  to  deride 
About     his     bargain, —  "Faith!"     he 

cried, 

"  A  fine  agreement  you  have  made! 
I  mean  to  see  the  forfeit  paid  ; 
The  art  of  rhetoric  to  teaeh, 
Of    course     you  '11     make    a     gallows 

speech"!  " 
"  Laugh     as    you    may,    my    merry 

man  ! " 

Replied  the  cnnnins  charlatan  ; 
"  Although  my  wisdom  you  may  flout, 
I  know  quite  well  what  I  'm  about. 
If  in  the  years  allotted  I, 
Tlie  kintr.  or  ass,  should  chance  to  die. 
Pray,  don't  you  see,  my  giddy  friend, 
The  bargain  finds  a  speedy  end  ? 
My  fee  was  but  a  premium  paid 
To  one  in  the  insurance  trade. 
Of  one  or  other  of  the  three 
Ten  years  are  pretty  sure  to  see 


158 


THE  KING'S  ASTROLOGER. 


The  epitaph,  —  as  chances  fall ; 
I  take  the  hazard, —  that  is  all !  " 


THE   CADI'S    STRATAGEM. 

A   TURKISH    TALE. 

A  PIOUS   widow's   cottage  chanced  to 

stand 
Hard  by  the  Calif's  palace  ;  aud  he 

sought, 
For  his  own   use,    to    buy   her  bit  of 

laud  : 

But  all  in  vain,  —  the  land  could  not 
be  bought. 

"  It  was  my  husband's  home,"  the  wom- 
an said, 
"Who,  d.\iug,   left  it   to   his   loving 

wife ; 
Here   will    I   dwell,   in    houor    of    the 

dead, 

Nor  with   it  part   until  I   part  with 
life ! " 

The   haughty  Calif's   anger    knew  no 

bound, 
That  thus  the  dame  withstood  him  to 

his  face  ; 
By   force   he  razed  her  cottage  to  the 

ground, 

And   built  a  grand    pavilion    in   its 
place. 

Straight  to  the  Cadi,  then,  the  widow 

goes, 
And  asks  for  justice  at  his  Honor's 

hand  : 
"  Leave  me  awhile,"  the  Cadi  said,  and 

rose ; 

"Allah  is  great,  and  hears  your  just 
demand." 

Then  with  an  empty  sack,  he  took  his 

way 
To  the  pavilion,  where  he  chanced  to 

meet 
The  Calif  at  the  door.     "  Great  Sire ! 

I  pray 

A   little    of  the  earth  beneath  your 
feet; 

"Enough  to  fill,"  the  Cadi  said,  "this 

sack." 

"  'T  is  granted  ! "  said  the  Calif,  laugh- 
ing loud. 


"  Now,  please  to  put  the  load  upon  my 

back, 

Most   potent  Prince  !  "  —  and  rever- 
ently bowed. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Calif,  "  I  should  sure- 

ly  fail 

Should  I  essay  to  lift  a  load  so  great ; 
For  such  a  task  my  strength  would  not 

avail  ; 

A  porter  would  be  crushed  beneath  the 
weight ! " 

"  Prince   of  Believers  !  "  said  the  Cadi, 

then, 
"  If  this  be  even  so,  how  wilt  thou 

fare 
In  the    great    day   of  final  judgment, 

when 

The  weight  of  all  this  land  thou  hast 
to  bear  ? " 

The   Calif,  stricken  with  remorse,  ex- 
claimed, 
"  Allah    is    Allah  !  —  be    his    name 

adored ! 
For  wit   and   wisdom    thon   art  justly 

famed ; 

This  day  shall  see  the  widow's  land 
restored. 

"  And  for  the  wrong  I  did  the  woman's 

land, 
In   tearing  down    her  house,  I  thus 

atone : 
This  fine   pavilion    in    its  place    shall 

stand  ; 

For,  with  the  soil,  the  building  is  her 
own  ! " 


THE  KING'S  ASTROLOGER. 

A    HISTORICAL    INCIDENT. 

FEW  heart?,  however  brave  they  may 

appear, 

Are  wholly  free  from  superstitious  fear; 
Thirteen  at    table,  or  tlie  salt  upset, 
A  broken   looking-glass,  —  have  served 

to  fret 
With  anxious  boding  many  a  mind  too 

proud 

Its  secret  terrors  to  confess  aloud. 
A  veteran  soldier  has     been  known  to 

quail 
At  the  white  phantom  in  a  nursery-tale 


NO  ADMITTANCE. 


159 


Or  list  the  "  death-watch,"  by  the  even-  j 

ing  fire, 
With  fears  that  roariug  guns  could  not 

inspire, 
Though    Science    sought   his    quaking  \ 

nerves  to  rule, 
And  calm-eyed  Reason  called  the  trem-  j 

bier  "  fool !  " 
And  many  a  monarch,  boastful  of  his 

power, 
And  proud  to  make  his  slavish  minions 

cower 

Beneath  his  royal  frown,  has  been  him- 
self 
The  humblest  slave  of  some  imagined 

elf 

Begot  of  Superstition's  baleful  night; 
Some  wicked  gnome  or  diabolic  sprite, 
Malicious  fairy  or  vindictive  "  wraith," 
Who,  seeking  to  avenge  man's  broken 

faith 
Or  haughty  scorn,   sets  all   his   plans 

awry, 
Or  blasts  his   harvests  with  an  "evil 

eye  ! " 
When    Louis  the  Eleventh  ruled  in 

France, 

His  favorite  Astrologer,  by  chance, 
Or  by  predicting  some  unwelcome  thing 
Concerning  state-affairs,  displeased  the 

king 
So  much,  the  angry  monarch  (Rumor 

saith) 

Resolved  to  put  the  hated  seer  to  death ; 
So,  summoning  the  man,  with  this  in- 
tent, 

He  mockingly  demanded  what  it  meant 
That  he  who  knew  the  mysteries  of  Fate, 
And  how  of  others'  death  to  fix  the 

date, 

Should  be  so  ignorant  about  his  own  ? 
The  Seer,  divining  from  his  sneering 

tone 
The  monarch's   purpose,  answered,  "I 

foresee, 
Your   Majesty,  when   that    event  will 

be  ; 

My  death  will  happen  (so  my  Star  as- 
sures) 
Three  days  —  precisely  —  in  advance  of 

yours ! " 
What   was  the   monarch's    answer? 

The  report 

Tells  only  this,  that  in  the  royal  court 
The  Seer  thenceforth  was  safely  lodged, 

and  there 
To  his  life's  end  received    the  kindest 

care! 


NO  ADMITTANCE. 

AN    ORIENTAL    TALE. 

A  AVEALTHY  Syrian  —  Abdallah  by 
name  — 

Fell  ill  and  died;  and  when  his  spirit 
came 

Before  the  gate  of  heaven,  the  angel 
there 

(Who  stands  with  awful  and  majestic  air 

To  guard  the  Elysian  portal)  softly  said, 

"  Whence  comest  thou  ?  "  The  Syrian 
bowed  his  head, 

And  answered,  "From  Aleppo."  "  Very 
well,  — 

What  wert  thou  ?  "  asked  the  heavenly 
sentine}. 

"A  merchant."  "True;  but  tell  me  all 
the  rest," 

Replied  the  angel,  "  all,  —  the  worst  and 
best; 

From  me  —  reflect  —  no  act  can  be  con- 
cealed ! " 

Whereat  the  merchant  all  his  life  re- 
vealed, 

And  nothing  hid  of  aught  that  he  had 
done: 

How  he  had  sailed  beneath  the  Indian 
sun, 

In  quest  of  diamonds,  and  for  yellow 
gold 

To  Northern  Asia ;  how  he  bought  and 
sold 

By  the  Red  Sea,  and  on  the  wondrous 
Nile, 

And  stormv  Persian  Gulf ;  and  all  the 
while 

Had  bravely  striven  to  keep  his  con- 
science clear, 

Though  always  buying  cheap  and  selling 
dear, 

As  merchants  use,  —  "And  so  I  throve 
amain," 

He  said,  "  for  many  a  year,  —  nor  all  in 
vain 

For  public  benefaction,  since  I  gave 

Freely  for  charity,  —  content  to  save 

Enough  tor  me  and  mine,  —  a  hand- 
some store, — 

And  that  is  all."  "  Nay,  there  is  some- 
thing more," 

The  angel  said.     "  Of  thy  domestic  life 

Thou  hast  not  spoken,  —  hadst  thou  not 
a  wife  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Syrian,  with  a  sigh  that 
spoke 


160 


THE  STRAY  CAMEL. 


Of  many  a  groan  beneath  the  marriage 

yoke. 
Whereat  the  angel  said,  "  By  God's  rich 

grace, 
Come  in,  poor  suffering  soul !  and  take 

thy  place 
Among  the  martyrs,  and  give  Heaven 

thanks ! " 

Now,  as  he  entered  the  celestial  ranks, 
Another  soul  approached   the   golden 

door, 

Who,  having  heard  all  he  who  came  be- 
fore 
Had  spoken,  and  observed  him  entering 

in 
The  open  portal,  thought   himself   to 

win 
Easy  admittance ;    for  whea   he    had 

told 
His  history,  like  the  other,  he  made 

bold 
To  add,  "  All  this,  Good  Angel,  is  most 

true; 
And,  as  for  wives,  I  've  had  no  less  than 

two ! " 
"  Twice  married !  "  said  the  angel,  with 

a  face 
Of  wrath  and  scorn,  —  "unfortunates 

have  place 
In   heaven's   blest  mansions ;    but,   by 

Reason's  rules, 
(So  get  thee  hence!)  there  is  no  room 

for  fools ! " 


THE  STRAY  CAMEL. 

AN  ARABIAN   TALE. 

A  CAMEL-DRIVER,  who  had  lost 
His  camel,  chancing  to  accost 
A  wandering  Arab  in  the  way, 
Said,  "  Sir  !  my  beast  has  gone  astray  ; 
And  went,  I  think,  the  road  you  came." 
"  Pray,"  said   the   stranger,  "  was   he 

lame  1  " 

"  He  was,  indeed  !  "  was  the  reply. 
"And,  tell  me,  had  he  lost  an  eye  ?  " 
"'Tis    even    so!"     "And  one    front 

tooth  ?  " 
"  In   faith !  —  yon    speak    the   simple 

truth !  " " 

"  And,  for  his  load,  was  there  a  sack 
Of  honey  on  the  camels  back ? " 
"  There"  was,   indeed  !  —  now  tell    me, 

pray 
(Of  course  he  can't  be  far  away), 


Just  when  and   where  the  brute  you 

passed; 

And  was  he  going  slow  or  fast  ?  " 
"  Faith  !  "   said  the  stranger,  "  on  my 

word, 

I  know  no  more  than  I  have  heard 
From  your  own  lips  !    Nor  in  my  way 
Have  I  observed,  for  many  a  day, 
A  camel  like  the  one  you  claim  ; 
I  swear  it,  in  the  Prophet's  name  !  " 

The  camel-driver  all  in  vain 
Besought  the  Arab  to  explain ; 
He  still  insisted,  as  before, 
That  of  the  beast  he  knew  no  more 
Than  from  the  owner  he  had  heard. 
Whereat  the  camel-driver,  stirred 
With  wrath,  expressed  his  firm  belief 
This  knowing  Arab  was  a  thief; 
Then  to  the  Cadi  off  he  went, 
And  told  the  tale.     His  Honor  sent, 
And  brought  the  stranger  into  court 
"  You  hear  this  worthy  man's  report," 
The  Cadi  said,  "  of  what  occurred  ; 
And  still  you  answer  not  a  word, 
Save  that  his  beast  you  never  saw. 
Allah  is  great !  and  law  is  law  1 
How    know    you,    then,    that  he   was 

lame  ?  * 
"By    this,  —  that   where   the   camel 

came, 

Upon  the  sand  one  footprint  lagged, 
Which    showed    one    foot    the    camel 

dragged." 

"'T  is  well  explained  ;  now  tell  me  why 
You  said  the  camel  lacked  an  eye  ? 
And    from    his   jaw    one    tooth    had 

lost  ?  " 

"  By  this, —  that  nowhere  had  he  crossed 
The  road  to  browse  the  other  side  ; 
And,  furthermore,  I  plainly  spied 
Where'er    his    teeth    had    chanced    to 

pass, 

A  narrow  line  of  standing  grass, 
Which  showed,  as  clear  as  truth  is  truth. 
The  camel  had  one  missing  tooth  !  " 
"  And      how      about      the     hoiiev  ? " 

"  Well,  — 

It  surely  was  n't  hard  to  tpll 
The  nature  of  the  camel's  lo.id, 
When,  gathered  all  along  the  road, 
A  thousand    bees  "  —     "  There,  that 

will  do," 

The  Cadi  said  ;  "  the  case  is  through 
And  you  're  discharged  !     But  let  me 

hint 

(A  lesson  plain  as  any  print), 
A  deal  of  trouble  may  arise 
At  times  from  being  overwise ! " 


THE  AMBITIOUS  VINE. 


161 


THE  FIVE  KNAVES. 

AN    ORIENTAL    TALE. 

ONCE  on  a  time,  in  Indostan, 
A  thief  conceived  a  cunning  plan 
'So  potent  is  the  voice  of  Hope) 
To  save  his  throttle  from  the  rope, 
Though  now  the  day  was  drawing  nigh 
When  he  bv  law  was  doomed  to  die. 
He  bade  the  jailer  tell  the  King 
He    fain     would    show     a    wondrous 

thing,  — 

A  precious  secret  fairly  worth 
The  ear  of  any  prince  on  earth. 

And  now  the  culprit,  being  led 
Into  the  royal  presence,  said, 
"  This  goldon  coin  which  here  you  see, 
If  planted,  will  become  a  tree 
Whose  fruit,  increased  a  hundred-fold, 
Will  be  —  like  this  —the  purest  gold. 
I  pray  your  Majesty  to  try 
If  this  be  true  before  I  die." 
With  this,  the  King  and  courtiers  went 
Into  the  garden  with  intent 
To  plant  the  curious  coin  of  gold  ; 
Hut  now,  when  all  was  readv,  "  Hold  !  " 
Exclaimed  the  thief,  —  "  this  hand  of 

mine 

Would  surely  spoil  our  whole  design. 
The  hand  that  plants  the  gold  must  be 
(Else  all  is  nought)  entirely  free 
From  stain  of  fraud ;  and  so  I  pray 
Your  Gracious  Majesty  will  lay 
The  seed  in  earth."     "  Yes,  —no,  —  in 

sooth  "  — 

The  King  replied,  "for  in  my  youth 
I  pilfered  from  my  sire ;  some  stain, 
For  all  my  sorrow,  may  remain. 
My  srood  Prime  Minister  is  here; 
His  hand,  no  doubt,  is  wholly  clear 
Of  any  taint  "     "  Nay,"  he  replied, 
"  That 's  more  than  I  can  well  decide  ; 
As  Tax-Receiver — now  —  I  may 
Have  kept  a  trifle.     So  I  pray 
To  be  excused,  for  prudence'  sake, 
And  let  our  Commissary  take 
The  coin  in  hand.    Sure  that  were  best ; 
For  he,  no  doubt,  can  stand  the  test." 
"  Faith  !  "  said  the  Commissary,  "  I 
Would  rather  not      I  can't  deny 
My  good  intent;  but  since  I  pay 
Large  sums  of  money  every  day 
For  soldiers,  sailors, 'and  a'herd 
Of  spies,  —  I  would  n't  give  my  word 
I  have  not  kept  a  small  amount, 
Not  entered  in  mv  book  account. 
'11 


Since  any  error  —  e'en  the  least  — 
Would  spoil  the  charm,   pray  let  the 

Priest 

Proceed  to  plant  the  coin  of  gold." 
"  Nay^ ,  that  I  fear  were  over-bold  ; 
Despite  my  prayers  and  pious  zeal," 
Replied  his  Reverence,  "  I  deal 
In  tithes  and  sacrificial  dues  ; 
And  so  I  beg  you  will  excuse 
My  sharing  in  a  work  like  this 
Where  nothing  must  be  done  amiss." 

"Faith!"  said  the  thief,   "since  no 

man  here 

(As  we  have  learned)  is  wholly  clear 
Of  knavish  tricks,  I  ask  you  whether 
We  should  not  all  be  hung  together  ?  " 

The  monarch,  laughing,  made  reply, 
"  Why,  yes,  if  every  rogue  must  die ! 
Well,  since  we  five  are  knaves  confest, 
I  pardon  you,  —  and  spare  the  rest !  " 


THE  AMBITIOUS  VINE. 

AN  APOLOGUE  OF  THE  ALGIC  INDIANS. 

A  VINE  that  stood  beside  a  thriving  Oak 

Grew  weary  of  the  labor 
Of  self-support,  and  thus  she  plainly 
spoke 

Unto  her  stronger  neighbor :  — 

"  I  prithee  bend  your  handsome  trunk 
to  me, 

My  noble  forest-brother ; 
That,  mutually  embracing,  we  may  be- 

Supporters  of  each  other." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  tree,  "  I  was  not  made- 

to  bend ; 

I  'm  strong  and  self-reliant, 
As  oaks  are  wont,  —  but  you,  my  pretty 

friend, 
Are  twenty  times  as  pliant ! 

"  So  clasp  your  slender  arms  around  mj^. 
deaf ; 

And  we  will  grow  together, 
High  as  yon  azure  cloud,  nor  ever  fear- 

The  roughest  wind  or  weather  !  " 

"Nay,  nay,"  replied  the  foolish  Vine,, 

"  I  hate 

To  seem  so  much  your  debtor : 
You  do  the  twining,  now,  and  / 11  be- 
straight; 
I  'd  like  it  vastly  better  1 " 


162 


A  DOUBLE  DISTRESS. 


"Nature  wills  otherwise,"  the  Oak  re- 
plied, 

"  However  you  may  grumble  ; 
The  moment  such    a  silly   plan  were 

tried, 
Together  we  should  tumble ! 

"  Come  you  to  me ;  and,  taking  Nature's 
course, 

We  '11  keep  our  proper  places  : 
I  to  the  twain  will  give  my  manly  force, 

And  you  your  maiden  graces. 

"  But  if,  perverse,  you  try  to  live  alone, 
With  none  to  hold  and  cherish 

Your  slender  form,  before  you  're  fairly 

grown, 
You  certainly  will  perish. 

"  Or  if,  instead  of  fondly  clinging  fast 
To  one  who  would  protect  you, 

You  flirt  with  others,  —  all  the  trees  at 

last 
Will  scornfully  reject  you." 

"  I  see,  —  I  see  !  "  exclaimed  the  musing 

Vine, 

"  The  weaker  must  be  nourished ;  " 
Then    clasped    the  oak  with  many   a 

graceful  twine, 
And  so  they  grew  and  flourished  ! 


THYRSIS  AND  AMARANTH. 

THYRSIS,  enamored  of  a  maid, — 

Fair  Amaranth,  — a  trick  essayed 

To  test  the  way  her  fancy  ran  ; 

And  thus  the  simple  swain  began : 

"  O  Amy  !  if  yon  only  knew, 

And,  like  myself,  could  feel  it  too, 

A  certain  malady  that  harms 

Young  fellows,  while  it  sweetly  charms, 

I'm  suie  you  'd  wish  your  gentle  breast 

Were  of  the  same  disease  possest. 

Its  name   you  may   have  chanced  to 

hear ; 

Pray  L-t  me  breathe  it  in  your  ear, — 
'T  is  LOVE  !  my  darling !  — that  's  the 

word ! " 
"'T  is  one,"  quoth  she,  "that  I  have 

heard, 

And  think  it  pretty;  pray  reveal 
Exactly  how  it  makes  you  feel ; 
And  tell  me  plainly  all  the  signs 
By  which  its  presence  one  divines." 
"  Ah  !  "  said  the  boy,  "  its  very  woes 


Are  ecstasies  !  —  the  patient  goes 
With  laggard  step  and  longing  looks, 
And  murmurs  love  to  babbling  brooks, 
And  all  the  while,  in  every  place, 
Sees  naught  but  one  bewitching  face ! 
There  is  a  shepherd-lad  —  suppose  — 
Whom     some    sweet    village    maiden 

knows. 

She  fears  to  see  him ;  yet  would  she, 
If  she  might  choose,  no  other  see  ; 
If  she  but  hears  his  voice  or  name, 
Her   cheeks    are  flushed  with    scarlet 

flame; 

At  thought  of  him  she  heaves  a  sigh, 
Yet  cannot  guess  the  reason  why  "  — 
"  Nay,  —  stop  !  "  cries  Amaranth,  "  I 

ween 

I  know  the  malady  you  mean ! 
Although  I  did  n't  know  its  name, 
I  warrant,  now,  'tis  just  the  same 
As  that  ( I  hope  it  is  n't  wrong  ! ) 
I  've  felt  for  CLEDAMANT  so  long  !  " 


Poor  Thyrsis  !     He  was  not  the  first, 
Nor  yet  the  latest,  who  has  shown 

A  rival's  interest  may  be  nursed 
By  one  who  seeks  to  serve  his  own ! 


A  DOUBLE  DISTRESS. 

A   PERSIAN   TALE. 

THAT   blessings  lost,   though  hard   to 

bear, 
Are  light  when  weighed  with  carking 

care,  — 

Some  ill  whose  ever-goading  spite 
Affects  us  morning,  noon,  and  night, — 
Sadi,  the  Persian  poet,  shows 
Most  humorously.     The  story  goes  — 
So  sings  the  bard  —  that,  on  a  time, 
Somewhere  within  the  Eastern  clime, 
A  worthy  gentleman,  whose  wife 
Took  sudden  leave  of  him  and  life, 
In  deepest  lamentation  fell 
For  the  dear  dame  whom  long  and  well 
The   man    had   loved, — as  well   might 

be,— 

For  she  was  good,  and  fair  to  see, 
And  crowned  with  every  winuinjr  graca 
Of  mind  and  soul  to  match  her  face. 
What   much   his   weight  of  woe  in 

creased, 
The  mother  of  the  dear  deceased, 


THE  TWO  KINGS, 


163 


A  meddling  beldame,  old  and  cross, 
Remained  to  help  him  mourn  his  loss. 
From  morn  to  night  the  vixen's  tongue 
He  heard,  and  groaned  ;  and  still  she 

clung 

Leech-like  unto  the  widowed  spouse  ; 
For,  by  the  daughter's  nuptial  vows, 
The  woman  said,  it  was  agreed  — 
Dared  he  dispute  it  ?  —  no,  indeed  !  — 
Her  mother  in  the  house  should  stay, 
A  guest —  unto  her  dying  day ! 
In  vain  the  hapless  man  essayed 
To  buy  her  off ;  in  vain  portrayed 
The  pfeasures  of  a  trip  to  Rome  ; 
She  still  "  preferred  to  stay  at  home  !  " 

One  dav,  amidst  the  deafening  din 
Of  angry  tongues,  some  friends  came 

in, 

With  sympathetic  voice  to  pay 
Condolence,  in  the  common  way ; 
And,  hinting  at  his  recent  loss, 
Hoped  Heaven  would  help  him  bear  his 

cross. 
"Thanks!"  said  the  mourner,  with  a 

sigh, 

"  Mv  loss  is  great,  —  I  can't  deny  ; 
But  for  affliction.  I  must  say, 
What  God  was  pleased  to  take  away 
A  less  calami tv  1  find 
Than  what  He  chose  to  leave  behind!" 


THE  TWO   KINGS. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

WHEN  mighty  Jove  had  fashioned  hu- 
man kind, 
And    named    the   earth   to   be    their 

dwelling-place 

(So  in  an  Eastern  apologue  we  find), 
He   sent   two   ministers   to  rule   the 


He  gave  command  to  Pl-asure  and  to 

Pain 
(Of  heavenly,  one,  and  one  of  hellish 

birth):" 
"  Henceforth,  my  minions,  be  it  yours 

to  reign 

As  sovereign  lords  o'er  all  the  sons  of 
earth." 

And  soon  it  was  agreed   between   the 

twain 
A  separate  dominion  would  be  best. 


The  vicious   only  should   be   ruled  by 

Pain  ; 

And  Pleasure  be  the  master  of  the 
rest 

A   proper  plan  enough  it  seemed,   at 

first; 

But  soon  they  found,  despite  each  out- 
ward sign, 
That  —  save,  indeed,  between  the  best 

and  worst  — 

None  less  than  Jove  could  fairly  draw 
the  line. 

They  found  —  to  make  discrimination 

nice  — 

To  classify  the  race  defied  their  skill : 
The  virtuous   all   had  more  or  less  of 

vice; 

The  vicious  showed  some  sparks  of 
virtue  still. 

The  generous   man   was    "fashed   wi' 

worldly  lust " ; 

The  devotee  was  full  of  saintly  pride ; 
The  chaste  was  covetous  ;  and  none  so 

just 

But  they  had  still  some  little  sin  to 
hide. 

And,  looking  sharply  at  the  darker  part, 
Not  one  among  them  all  was  wholly 

bad  ; 
Here  was   a  sot  who   had  a  generous 

heart, 

And  there  a  thief  who  saved  a  drown- 
ing lad. 

Virtue   and   Vice  !  —  how  easily   they 

trace 

The  larger  forms  of  each  ;  but  to  as- 
sign 

Their  just  proportion  in  a  special  case,— 
Who  but  the  gods  could  safelv  draw 
the  line  ? 

And  so  it  was  agreed  (lest  strife  befall 
From  such   confusion)  each,  in  turn, 

should  reign  : 
Pleasure   should    have    dominion    over 

all; 

And  all,  at  times,  should  feel  the  rule 
of  Pain. 

And  still,  as  erst,  they  rule  the  human 

race, — 

Pleasure  and  Pain,  —  in  short,  alter 
nate  sway ; 


164 


NOUS  ET   VOL'S. 


And  whichsoe'er  may  show  his   regal 

face, 
We  know  his  fellow  is  not  far  away  ! 


JUPITER  AND  HIS   CHILDREN. 


A    CLASSIC    FABLE. 

OXCE  on  sublime  Olympus,  when 
Great  Jove,  the  sire  of  gods  and  men, 
Was  looking  down  on  this  our  Earth, 
And  marking  the  increasing  dearth 
Of  pious  deeds  and  noble  lives, 
While   vice    abounds    and    meanness 

thrives,  — 

He  straight  determined  to  efface 
At  one  fell  swoop  the  thankless  race 
Of  human  kind.    "  Go !  "  said  the  King 
Unto  his  messenger,  "  and  bring 
The  vengeful  Furies  ;  be  it  theirs, 
Unmindful  of  their  tears  and  prayers, 
These   wretches  —  hateful  from   their 

birth  — 

To  wipe  from  off  the  face  of  earth  !  " 
The  message  heard,  with  torch  of  flame 
And  reeking  sword,  A/ecto  came, 
And  by  the  l>eard  of  Plu'o  swore 
The  human  race  should  be  no  more! 

But  .lore,  relenting  thus  to  see 
The  direst  of  the  murderous  three, 
And  hear  her  menace,  bade  her  go 
Back  to  the  murky  realms  helow. 
"Be  mine  the  cruel  task  !  "  he  said, 
And,  at  the  word,  a  bolt  he  sped, 
Which,  falling  in  a  desert  place, 
Left  all  unhurt  the  human  race! 
Grown  bold  and  bol  ler,  wicked  men 
Wax  worse  and  wo-se,  until  again 
The  stench  to  hiu;h  Olympus  came, 
And  all  the  gods  began  to  blame 
The  monarch's  weak  indulgence,  — they 
Would  crush  the  knaves  without  delay  ! 

At  this,  the  Knler  of  the  air 
Proceeds  a  tempest  to  prepare, 
Which,  dark  and  dire,  he  swiftly  hurled 
In  raging  furv  on  the  world  ! 
But  not  where  human  beings  dwell 
(So  Jove  provides)  the  tempest  fell. 

And  still  the  sin  and  wickedness 
Of  men  grew  more,  instead  of  less : 
Whereat  the  gods  declare,  at  length, 
For  thunderholts  of  greater  strength, 
Which  Vulcan  soon,  at  Jove's  command, 
Wrought   in   his  forge  with  dexterous 

hand. 
Now  from  the  smithy's  glowing  flame 


Two  different  sorts  of  weapons  came  : 
To  hit  the  mark  was  one  designed  ; 
As  sure  to  miss,  the  other  kind. 
The  second  sort  the  Thunderer  threw, 
Which  not  a  human  being  slew; 
But,  roaring  loudly,  hurtled  wide 
On  forest-top  and  mountain-side  ! 


What  means  this  ancient  tale  ?    That 

Jove 

In  wrath  still  felt  a  parent's  love; 
Whatever  crimes  he  may  have  done, 
The  father  yearns  to  spare  the  son. 


NOUS  ET  VOUS. 

A    GALLIC    FABLE. 

As  two  young  friends  were  walking  out, 

one  day 

(So  Florian  has  told), 
They  chanced  to  see,  before  them,  in 

the  way 

A  well-filled  purse  of  gold. 
"  By  Jove  !    a  pretty   prize  for  us ' " 

cried  Ned; 

While  Tom  with  hasty  hand 
Was  pocketing  the  purse.     " For  us?" 

he  said ; 

"  I  do  not  understand 
Your  meaning,  sir ;  for  me,  sir !  that 's 

the  word ! " 

(Joy  beaming  in  his  face  ) 
"  Considering  how  the  incident  occurred, 

'  Us  '  is  n't  in  the  case !  " 
"  Well  —  be   it  so !  "    the   other   made 

reply, 

"  Although 't  is  hardly  fair; 
I  am  not  anxious,  sir,  —  indeed,  not  I, 

Your  treasure-trove  to  share  ! " 
Just   then,   two  robbers   plainly  they 

espied 

In  waiting  to  accost 
Our  travelers,  —  when  Tom,  a-tremble, 

cried, 

"  Ah  !  brother,  we  are  lost ! " 
"  We  1  "  answered  Ned.    "  Oh,  we  have 

naught  to  fear : 
'T  is  you  the  rogues  must  face; 
You,  —  you,  my  boy  !     To  me 't  is  very 

clear 

'  We  '  is  n't  in  the  case  !  " 
And  at  the  word  away  the  fellow  ran. 
When,  rushing  from  the  wood, 


THE  RIVAL  QUEENS. 


165 


The   thieves    attacked   the   unresisting 

man, 

Who,  pale  with  terror,  stood 
The  while  they  robbed  him  of  his  pre- 
cious pur^e, 

Too  weak  for  flight  or  strife,  — 
No  friend  to  aid  him  —  and  (oh  sad  re- 
verse !) 
In  peril  of  his  life  ! 

MORAL. 

So  wags  the  world !  —  where  oft  the 

selfish  "  nous  " 
Seems  fated  to  forget 
The   time   may   come   when   e'en   the 

humblest  "  rons  " 
May  pay  a  friendly  debt. 
The  prosperous  man  who  but  himself 

regards 

May  chance  to  change  his  tone, 
When  Fortune  leaves  him  to  his  losing 

cards, 
Un  pi  tied  and  alone  ! 


THE  FAIRY  AND  THE  THREE 
WISHES. 

AN    ORIENTAL   TALE. 

A  FAIRY  of  the  friendly  sort 
Who  serve  mankind  as  if  in  sport, 
Know  how  to  wash  and  sweep  a  room 
With     twirling     mop    and     whisking 

broom, 

In  garden  work  are  skillful  too, 
And  apt  in  all  that  huswives  do  ; 
Bat  if  you  cross  them,  lo  !  they  cease 
Their  industry  with  strange  caprice, 
Or,  more  perversely,  quickly  spoil 
The  product  of  the'ir  former  toil,  — 
A  fairy  of  this  curious  kind 
(Which  still  in  merry  books  we  find) 
Had  aided  long  a  farmer's  skill 
His  land  to  plow  and  plant  Jind  till, 
Until  the  honest  yeoman  grew 
Not  rich,  indeed,  but  well-to-do, 
Thanks  to  the  fairy,  —nimble  sprite ! 
Who  served  his  master  dav  and  night 
(For  still  the  fay  his  vigils  kept 
While  master,  man,  and  mistress  slept), 
Until  at  last  the  vagrant  mood 
That  ever  rules  the  goblin-brood 
Was  his  no  more  :  he  fain  would  dwell 
With  those  whom   he  has  served    so 

well; 


For  to  the  giver  kindness  makes 
A  joy  surpassing  his  who  takes. 

But  now,  alas  !  (and  hence  we  see 
That  fays  have  griefs  as  well  as  we,) 
An  order  from  the  Fairy-King 
Came,  with  an  escort,  charged  to  bring 
The  farmer's  favorite,  that 'he 
Might  straight  attend  his  Majesty 
At  Land's-Eud  !  —  he  would   have  it 

so, 

And  so,  perforce,  the  fay  must  go. 
But  ere  he  left  his  rustic  life, 
He  baoe  the  farmer  and  his  wife 
Three  several  wishes  to  express. 
"  Just  three,"  he  said,  "  no  more,  — nor 

less, 

And  these  will  I  at  once  fulfill, 
Whate'er,    my    friends,   may   be  your 

will  ! " 

The  first  was  sure  an  easy  task  ; 
For  wealth  —  vast  wealth,  of  course, 

they  ask. 

It  comes !  and  with  it  all  the  train 
Of  ills  that  vex  the  heart  and  brain 
Of  those  who  pay  the  taxes  which 
(Beside  the  king's !)  annoy  the  rich, — 
Thieves,  swindlers,  beggars,  borrowers, 

all 

That  plunder  parlor,  kitchen,  hall, 
By   various  arts,  —  force,   fraud,    and 

lies! 

"  Take  all  away  ! "  the  farmer  cries ; 
"  The  poor  are  happier  than  they 
Who  to  such  harpies  fall  a  prey ; 
O,  give  us  back,  dear  sprite,  once  more 
Contentment  and  our  humble  store." 
Two  wishes  gone,  —  to  bring  the  man 
And  dame  just  where  they  first  began! 
At  thought  of  this  they  laughed  out- 
right ; 

So  did  the  fairy  (sprightly  sprite!) 
But  ere  he  went,  with  friendly  voice, 
He  helped  them  to  a  better  choice : 
'T  was  WISDOM  !  riches  of  the  mind, 
Surpassing  all  that  misers  find 
In  money-bags ;  abundance  rare 
And  void  of  grief  and  carking  care  ; 
Wealth  —  if  it  bear  the  genuine  seal  — 
Which  none  can  borrow,  beg,  or  steal ! 


THE  RIVAL  QUEENS. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 

A  DAMASK  Rose  and  a  Lily  white, 
Each  lovely  as  ever  was  known, 


166 


THE   VANITY  OF  HUMAN   WISHES. 


Grew  doubly  red  and  pale  with  spite 
Concerning  the  floral  throne. 

For  some  declared  the  Lily  was  queen  ; 

While  others,  as  firm  as  those, 
Said,   "  No !  just  look  at  her  languid 
mien ; 

Our  sovereign  shall  be  the  Rose  !  " 

"  A  queen,"   said    the   friends  of    the 

ruddy  Rose, 

"  The  royal  purple  should  wear  ;  " 
"A  queen,"  'twas  answered,   "every 

one  knows, 
Should  —  like  the  Lily  —  be  fair !  " 

The  quarrel  was  bitter  and  long   and 

loud, 

And  all  for  battle  were  fain ; 
No    wonder,    I   ween,   the    Rose  grew 

proud  ; 
No  wonder  the  Lily  grew  vain  ! 

And  so,  for  many  a  hateful  day 

And  many  an  augrv  week 
They  tossed  their  heads  in  a  scornful 
way, 

And  both  refused  to  speak. 

Until,  one  day,  with  the  golden  morn, 
The  slumbering  Rose  awoke, 

And,  all  ashamed  of  her  recent  scorn, 
To  her  rival  kindly  spoke. 

•"  O  lovely  Lily  !  "  exclaimed  the  Rose ; 

"  What  boots  it,  lady,  that  we 
Should   stand    and    stare    like    foolish 

foes, 

Who    were    wont    good    friends    to 
be?" 

"  Ah  !  why,  indeed  ?  "  the  Lily  replied, 
As  toward  the  other  she  beiids 

With  a  jrraceful  nod,  "  'T  is  pity  that 

pride 
Should  sever  the  best  of  friends ! 

"And   I  've  been  thinking,"  the  Lily 
went  on, 

"  That  not  by  arrogant  claims 
A  true  nobility  best  is  shown, 

But  in  noble  acts  and  aims." 

"  And  I  Ve  been  thinking,"  the  Rose  re- 
turned, 

"  For  all  our  pride  of  race, 
In  every  flower  may  be  discerned 

Some  sweet,  peculiar  grace. 


"  Though  Rose  be  red,  and  Lily  be  fair 
With  all  the  charms  we  've  got, 

The  humblest  flower  in  field  or  bower 
Hath  some  that  we  have  not ! " 


PROVIDENCE  IMPARTIAL. 


AN  old  Hellenic  saw  declares 
The  gods,  who  govern  men's  affairs 
Impartial  (grumble  as  we  may), 
For  all  their  favors  make  us  pay 
According  to  their  special  worth  : 
Wealth,  honor,  beauty,  noble  birth, 
Has  each  its  price  ;  and  still  the  higher 
The  gift,  the  more  the  gods  require  ! 
Hence,  let  not  foolish  pride  inflate 
The  seeming  favorites  of  Fate. 
A  Fir-tree,  very  large  and  tall, 
That  grew  beside  a  Bramble  small, 
Was  boasting  of  his  strength  and  size  : 
"  What   houses   I    would    make  !  "  he 

cries  ; 
"  While    you    are    simply    good    for 

naught, 

Unworthv  of  the  Woodman's  thought  !  " 
"  True  !  "  said  the  Bramble  ;   "  but  re- 

fleet  !  — 

If  he  were  here,  would  you  elect 
(Think  of  his  axe,  and  tell  me,  sir) 
To  be  a  Bramble  or  a  Fir  ?  " 


THE  VANITY  OF  HUMAN' 
WISHES. 

"  GIVE  me  your  soldiers'  bracelets;  all 
Their  splendid  jewels,  great  and  small, 
And  straight  your  artnv  shall  be  led 
Within  the  city  walls.""    So  said 
Tarpeia,  while  the  Sabine  waits 
In  siege  before  the  Roman  gates. 

Whereat  each  soldier,  filing  past 
The  traitress,  on  her  body  cast 
His  heavy  bracelet ;  till  at  last 
The  shining  heap  became  so  great, 
She  fell  and  died  beneath  their  weight. 

P>vcn  so  it  fares  with  mortals,  who 
With  hea'llong  eagerness  pursue 
Ambition,  p'easure,  wealth,  or  fame  ; 
The  gli  tering  prize  at  which  they  aim 
Comes  often,  like  Tarpeia' s  fate, 
To   bruise  and  crush  them  with  its 
weight. 


REASON  VERSUS  CUSTOM. 


167 


JUST  ONE  DEFECT. 


A    PERSIAN     FABLE. 

WHO  buys  a  house,  however  fine 

In  architectural  design, 

Ami  howsoever  vast  and  grand 

The  prospect  which  it  may  command, 

May  very  prudently  explore 

Concerning  one  condition  more  : 

So  Sadi  sings,  and  tells  of  one, 

Somewhere  beneath  the  Per>ian  sun, 

Who  thought  to  buy  a  manr-ion  where 

A    foul-mouthed    broker    praised    the 

air 

And  all  things  else,  with  eager  voice  : 
"  You  could  not  make  a  better  choice," 
The  fellow   bawled.     "Now,   look  ye 

here  ! 

I  've  lived  next  door  this  twenty  year, 
And  know  the  house  is  fairly  worth 
Ten  times  the  price !     There  's  not  on 

earth 

A  finer  building!     Just  inspect 
The  place,  and  mention  one  defect !  " 
"  Why,  truly,"  said  the  man,  "  I  see 
But    one."     "  Indeed  !    what    may    it 

be?" 
"  The     house    I    should     not    reckon 

deai-, 
I  think,  —  if  yours  were  not  so  near  !  " 


LOVE  AND   POETRY. 


To  Psyche,  when  her  maiden  heart 
Was  fancv-free,  the  Muses  went 

To  teach  her  the  poetic  art ; 

But  all  in  vain  their  kind  intent ; 

She  answered,  she  did  not  desire 

To  meddle  with  poetic  fire  ! 


But  Cupid  cnme,  and  won  the  mnid 
(Psyche  —  "  the  soul  "  of  all  things 

good); 

Her  husband's  teaching  she  obeyed, 
And    caught    from    him    tlie   lyric 

mood ; 

And  ever  since  —  as  all  agree  — 
Love  is  the  soul  of  Poesy ! 


REASON  VERSUS  CUSTOM. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 

ONCE  on  a  time,  a  man  of  sterling  sense 
At  Fashion's  whims   and   shams   took 

such  offense, 
He  vowed,   at  last,  that  not  another 

day 

Would  he  submit  to  her  despotic  sway  ; 
Thenceforth,  he  said,  do  others  as  they 

might,  — 
He  meant,  for  one,  to  follow  Reason's 

light ! 
"  A  brave  resolve ! "  his  laughing  neigh- 

bors  cried. 
"  Well,  well,"  he  answered,  "you  shall 

see  it  tried 

In  practice ;  thus  —  when  Fashion  dis- 
agrees 

With  Reason  (as  in  life  one  daily  sees) 
I  mean,  henceforth,  in  all  things,  great 

and  small, 
As  you  shall  note,  to  follow  Reason's 

"    call." 
And  so  it  came  to  pass  ;  from  that  day 

forth, 
He  judged  all  things  by  their  intrinsic 

worth 

Or  seeming  fitness ;  furnished  his  abode, 
And  wore  his  clothes,  regardless  of  the 

mode ; 

All  things  discarding  as  a  foolish  waste 
Which  seemed  discordant  with  the  laws 

of  taste, 

Or  clearly  served  no  profitable  end  ; 
Whate'er,  in  brief,  his  reason  might 

commend 

Of  old  or  new  he  took  into  his  plan 
Of  living,  —  like  a  reasonable  man  ; 
In  Fashion's  mere  despite  rejecting 

naught, 

Nor  at  her  mere  behest  accepting  aught 
Which   Reason  interdicted.     Who  can 

say 

He  was  not  wise,  or  name  a  wiser  way  ? 
A  scheme  like  this  should  surely  pros- 
per well ; 

But  if  you  ask  me  truthfully  to  tell 
The  sequel,  —  I  must  candidly  confess 
'T  was  what    the    reader     may    have 

chanced  to  gness. 

With  every  step  our  bold  reformer  took, 
By  jusf  so  much  —  consider  —  he  for- 


sook 

The  common  path, 
in  town ! " 


'  The  oddest  man 


168 


THE   TWO   FRIENDS. 


His  n  ighbors  said,  at  first  —  then  set 

him  down 
For    "  half-demented  !  "      By   and    by, 

they  vowed 
Such  wild",  strange  actions  should  not 

be  allowrd ; 

Tlie  man  was  clearly  "  going  to  tlie  bad." 
At  last,  his  dear  relations  proved  him 

mad. 

In  open  court,  and  shut  him  in  a  cell  ; 
Where  long  he  lived  with  lunatics,  to  tell 
His  doleful  tale  ;  and  earnestly  advise 
Against  the  foolishness  of  b  ing  wise 
W  here  folly  is  the  mode  !  —  "I  tried  to 

steer 
Mv  course  by  Reason,  and  she  brought 

me  here  ! " 


THE   SULTAN  AND  THE  EX- 
VIZIER. 


A    COLLOQUY  I    FROM    THE    PERSIAN. 


SINCE  yon  turned  Dervish,  long  ago, 
By  true  report  your  life  I  know, 
And  high  advance  in  wisdom's  lore  ; 
And  much,  believe  me,  I  deplore 
The  dav  I  lost  —  by  envious  Fate  — 
My  good  Prime  Minister  of  State. 


Thanks  !  gracious  Sire  !  the  life  I  live 
Has  more  of  peace  than  power  can  give ; 
Here,  in  mv  cloister,  I  have  learned 
Contempt  of  rank  ;  and  all  I  earned 
Of  power  and  pelf  in  your  employ 
Would  poorly  stead  my  present  joy. 


No  doubt!  —  and  as  for  power  and  pelf, 

I  'd  like  a  quiet  life  myself; 

And  yet  your  wisdom  I  would  fain 

Employ  to  serve  my  realm  again  ; 

The  truly  wise  are  truly  great, 

And  such,  alone,  should  rule  the  state. 


DERVISH. 

'T is  true,  your  Majesty;  and  yet, 
I  would  not  pay  the  ha'teful  debt : 
You  call  me  wi»e  ;  well  —  be  it  so; 
But  lieing  wise,  I  must  forego 


An  office  which  (am  I  too  bold?) 

A  wise  man  would  not  choose  to  hold\ 


THE  TWO  FRIENDS. 


A    RABBINICAL    TALE. 

GOOD  Rabbi   Nathan   had   rejoiced  to 

spend 
A   social    se'nnight   with    his    ancient 

friend, 

The  Rabbi  Isaac.     In  devout  accord 
They  read  the  Sacred  Books,  and  praised 

the  Lord 

For  all  his  mercies  unto  them  and  theirs ; 
Until,  one  day,  remembering  some  affairs 
That  asked  his  instant  presence,  Nathan 

said, 
"  Too  long,  my  friend  (so  close  my  soul 

is  wed 
To  thy  soul),  has  the  silent  lapse  of 

"days 
Kept    me    thy    guest ;  although    with 

prayer  and  praise 
The  hours'were  fragrant     Now  the  time 

has  come 

When,  nil-reluctant,  I  must  hasten  home 
To  other  duties  than  the  dear  delights 
To  which  thy  gracious  friendship  still 

invites." 

"  Well,  be  it  so,  if  «>  it  needs  must  he," 
The  host  made  answer ;  "  be  it  far  from 

me 

To  hinder  tbee  in  aught  that  Duty  lays 
Upon  thy  pious  conscience.  Go  thy 

ways ; 
And  take"  my  blessing!  —  but,  O  friend 

of  mine, 
In  His  name  whom  thou  servest,  give 

me  thine ! " 
"Already,"  Nathan  answered,  "had  I 

sought 
Some  fitting  words  to  bless  thee ;  and  I 

thought 
About  the  "palm  tree,  giving  fruit  and 

shade  ; 
And  in  my  grateful  heart,  O  friend,  I 

prayed 
That  Heaven  be  pleased  to  make  thee 

even  so  ! 

Oh,  idle  benediction  !  —  Well  I  know 
Thou  lackest  nothing  of  all  perfect  fruit 
Of  generous  souls ;  or  pious  deeds  that 

suit 
With  pious  worship.    Well  I  know  thine 

alms 


PERSEVERE  AND  PROSPER. 


169 


In  lnis)iital>le  shade  exceed  the  palm's; 
And,  fur  rich  fruitage,  can  tli.it  iioble 

tree, 
With  all   her  opulence,   compare  with 

thce  ? 
Since,  then,  O  friend,  I  cannot  wish  thee 

more, 
la  thine  own  person,  than  thy  present 

store 
Of.  Heaven's  best   bounty,  I  will  even 

prav 
That  —  as  the  palm-tree,  though  it  pass 

away, 

By  others,  "of  its  seed,  is  still  replaced  — 
So  thine  own    stock    may  evermore  be 

graced 
With  happy  sons  and  daughters,  who 

shall  be, 
In  wisdom,  strength,  and  goodness,  like 

to  thee ! " 


PERSEVERE  AND  PROSPER 

AN   ARABIAN    TALE. 

"  To   the    manly  will    there  's    ever  a 

way ! " 

Said  a  simple  Arab  youth  ; 
"  And    I  'm    going   to    trv,   this    very 

day, 

If  my  teacher  tells  the  truth  : 
lie's  always  saying, —  the    good   old 

mnn,  — 

'  Now,  please  remember,  my  dear, 
You    nre    sure    to  win,  whatever    you 

plan, 
If  you  steadily  persevere  ! ' 

"  I  mean  to  try  it,  —  upon  my  life  ! 

If  I  go  through  fire  and  water ; 
And,  since  I  wish  to  marrv  a  wife, 

I  '11  have  the  Califs  daughter  !  " 
So  off  to  the  Vizier  straight  he  goes, 

Who  only  laughed  at  the  lad  ; 
Aud  said  him  "Nay,"  —  as  you  may 
suppose,  — 

For  he  thought  the  fellow  was  mad  ! 

And  still  for  many  and  many  a  day 

He  came  to  plead  his  case, 
But  tlie  Vizier  only  answered  "Nay," 

And  laughed  him  in  the  face. 
At  last,  the  Calif  came  across 

The  youth  in  the  Vizier's  hall, 
And,  asking  what  his  errand  was, 

The  Vizier  told  him  all. 


'•  Now,  by  my  head  !  "  the  Calif  s.xi  1, 

"  'T  is  only  the  wise  and  great 
A  Calif's  daughter  may  ask  to  \vc«l, 

For  rank  with  rank  must  mate  ; 
Unless,  mayliap,  some  valiant  deed 

May  serve  for  an  equal  claim 
(For    merit,  I    own,   should    have   its 
meed, 

And  princes  yield  to  Fame). 

"  In  the  Tigris  once  a  gem  was  lost, 

'T  was  ages  and  ages  since, 
A  Ruby  of  wondrous  size  and  cost, 

And  fit  for  the  noblest  prince  ; 
That  gem,  my  lad,  must  surely  be 

Somewhere  beneath  the  water, — 
Go  find  it,  boy,  and  bring  it  to  me  ; 

Then   come  and   marry  my  daugh- 
ter ! " 

"  And  so  I  will ! "  the  lad  replied, 

And  off  to  the  river  he  ran  ; 
And  he  dips  away  at  the  foamy  tide, 

As  fast  as  ever  he  can  : 
With  a  little  cup  he  dips  away  ; 

Now,  what's  the  fellow  abo'ut  1 
He  's    going   to    find    the    gem,   some 
day, 

By  draining  the  Tigris  out ! 

And  still  he  dips  by  day  and  night, 

Till  the  fishes  begin  to  cry, 
"  This  fellow  is  such  a  willful  wi-ht, 

He  '11  dip  the  river  dry  !  " 
And   so  they  sent    their  monarch    to 
say 

(A  wise  and  reverend  fish), 
"  Now  why  are  you  dipping  our  water 
away  ? 

And  what  do  you  please  to  wish  ?  " 

"  I  want  the  Ruby,  sir,"  he  cried. 

"  Well,  please  to  let  us  alone, 
And  stop  your  dipping,"  the  fish-king 
cried, 

"  And  the  <rem  shall  he  yonr  own  !  " 
And  he  fetched  the  Ruby,  of  wondrous 
size. 

From  out  the  foamy  water  ; 
And  so  the  lad  obtained  his  prize, 

And  married  the  Calif's  daughter! 

L'ENVOI. 

This  plensnnt  story  was  meant  to  teach 
That  pluck  is  more  than  skill ; 

And  few  are  the  ends  beyond  the  reach 
Of  a  strong,  untiring  will ! 


170 


THE  IMPARTIAL  JUDGE. 


LAKE   SARATOGA. 

AN    INDIAN    LEGEND. 

A  LADY  stands  beside  the  silver  lake. 
"  What,"  said  the  Mohawk,  "  wouldst 

thou  have  me  do  ?  " 
"  Across  the  water,  sir,  be  pleased  to 

take 

Me  and  my  children  in  thy  bark  ca- 
noe." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  Chief,  "  thou  knowest 

not,  I  think, 
The  legend  of  the  lake,  —  hast  ever 

heard 
That  in  its  wave  the  stoutest  boat  will 

sink, 
If  any  passenger  shall  speak  a  word  ?  " 

"  Full  well  we  know  the  Indian's  strange 

belief," 
The    lady    answered,    with    a    civil 

smile; 
"  But  take  us  o'er  the  water,   mightv 

Chief ; 
In  rigid  silence  we  will  sit  the  while." 

Thus  they  embarked,  but  ere  the  little 

boat 
Was  half  across  the  lake,  the  woman 

gave 
Her  tongue  its  wonted  play  —  but  still 

they  float, 
And   pass  in  safety  o'er  the  utmost 


Safe  on  the  shore,  the  warrior  looked 

amazed, 
Despite   the   stoic    calmness   of    his 

race ; 
No  word  he  spoke,  but  long  the  Indian 

gazed 
In  moody  silence  in  the  woman's  face. 

"  What  think  you  now  ?  "  the  lady  gayly 

said; 
"  Safely  to  land  your  frail  canoe  is 

brought ! 
No  harm,  you  see,  has  touched  a  single 

head! 
So  su  perstition  ever  comes  to  naught ! " 

Smiling,  the  Mohawk  said,  "  Our  safety 

shows 

That   God    is    merciful    to  old   and 
young; 


Thanks  unto  the  Great   Spirit! — well 

he  knows 

The  pale-faced  woman   cannot  hold 
her  tongue ! " 


THE  IMPARTIAL  JUDGE. 

A   PERSIAN   TALE. 

To    good    Ben    Asher  —  of    immortal 

fame  — 

In  eager  haste  a  worthy  subject  came, 
And,   bowing  low  before  the    Sultan, 

cried, 
"  Prince  of  Believers  !  who  has  ne'er 

denied 

Impartial  justice  to  the  meanest  slave, 
Some  fitting  punishment  I  humbly  crave 
On  one  who  in  my  house  has  wrought  a 

shame  ; 

A  deed  of  violence  I  need  not  name 
In  further  speech  ;  for,  Sire!  the  fearful 

fact 
Was  seen  by  those  who  seized  him  in  the 

act ! "" 
"  Go,  bring  him  here  ! "  the  Sultan  said ; 

"  but  first 
Put  out  the  lights.     The  villain's  face 

accurst 
I  would  not  see."     Now,  when  all  this 

was  done, 
The   Sultan,  standing  by,  commanded 

one 
To  seize   and   stab  the   culprit  to  the 

heart ! 
"Now  light  the  lamps!"     The  Sultan 

then  (apart 
To  his  Vizier,  the  while  his   hands  he 

raised 
Devoutly   heavenward)   said,  "God  be 

praised 
For  this  that  I  behold  ! "     The  Vizier 

asked, 
What  favor  Heaven  had  done  in  this, 

that  tasked 
The  Sultan's  gratitude  ?     "I  feared  my 

son," 
Ben  Asher  said,  "  this  dreadful  deed  had 

done ; 
And,  meaning  still  that  justice  should 

prevail, 
And  fearing  lest  my  doting  heart  should 

fail. 

I  durst  not  see  the  man  till  he  was  dead  ; 
Judge,   then,   my  joy,"   the   trembling 

Sultan  said, 


THE  CONNOISSEURS. 


171 


"  That,  looking  on  the  wretch  so  justly- 
slain, 

I  find,  thank  Heaven  !  my  terror  was  in 
vain!" 


THE  ELEPHANT'S    SERMON. 


IN  olden  times,  when  —  it  is  said  — 
The  humblest  of  the  brute  creation 

(Though  not  in  school  or  college  bred) 
Possessed  the  art  of  conversation  ; 

The  Elcphnnt,  as  chief  High-Priest, 
Of  brutes  the  proper  censor  morum, 

Assembled  every  bird  and  beast, 

And  plainly  laid  their  faults   before 
Vin. 

Some  were  of  vanity  accused 

(Though  none  by  name  the  priest  ad- 
dresses), 
And  some  their  talents  had  abused 

By  indolence  or  wild  excesses ; 

And   some  were  charged  with  envious 
minds, 

And  some  with  foolish  ostentation; 
And  not  a  few  the  censor  finds 

Convict  of  wanton  depredation. 

And  some,  the  Elephant  declares, 
Are  basely  cruel  and  malicious ; 

Some  fail  to  mind  their  own  affairs  ; 
And  most,  in  some  respect,  are  vicious. 

The  faithful  Hound,  the  trusty  Horse, 
The  constant  Dove,  the  modest  Lin- 
net, 

The  Sermon  hear  without  remorse; 
Nay,  find  a  deal  of  pleasure  in  it ! 

In  brief,  the  best  of  all  the  crowd 

Are  charmed  to  hear  the  wise  prelec- 
tion ; 

The  others  frown,  or  rave  aloud. 
Or    hang   their    heads    in    deep   de- 
jection. 

The  Wolf  and  Tiger  howl  in  wrath, 
To   hear   the  parson's  faithful  chid- 
ing ; 

The  Serpent  hisses  in  his  path  ; 
The  Worm  goes  wriggling  to  his  hid- 
ing. 


The    Wasp    and     Hornet    buzz    their 

spite  ; 
The    Monkey   mocks    with    hideous 

grinning ; 

The  Fox  <:oes  sneaking  out  of  sight, 
To  wait  another  chance  for  sinning. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  the  Elephant  exclaims, 
"  Though  ill  enough  ye  seem  to  bear 

it,  — 

(Remember,  I  have  called  no  names  ;) 
Whom  the  cap  fits,   may   take   and 
wear  it ! " 


THE  CONNOISSEURS. 


WITHIN  a  wine-vault  once  arose 
A  quarrel  —  so  the  story  goes  — 
Among  the  Bacchanalian  crowd, 
So  fierce  and  bitter,  long  and  loud, 
It  fairly  threatened  broken  laws, 
And  bloody  noses,  —  all  because 
Two  parties  held  conflicting  views 
About  the  fittest  way  to  choose 
Their  beverage  !    Some  stoutly  hold, 
"  A  first-rate  tap  is  always  o'd  ; 
At  least,  a  thousand  proofs  attest 
The  old  st  always  is  the  best. 
Not  till  the  cunning  spiders  spin 
A  million  lines  across  the  bin 
Do  men  of  sense  imbibe  the  juice  ; 
Then,  only  then,  't  is  fit  for  use, 
Pure,  mellow,  fragrant,  ripe  ;  in  fine, 
Worthy  the  glorious  name  of  wine!  " 
The  others  just  as  roundly  swear, 
"New  wine  is  best.     Age"   (they  de 

clare) 

"  Is  far  more  apt  to  mar  than  mend 
Good  wine  (whatever  fools  pretend), 
And  then  't  is  oft  a  mere  device. 
Got  up  bv  rogues  to  raise  the  price  !  " 
While  thus  with   wrath   that  grew   tc 

rage, 

Their  foolish  feud  the  wranglers  wage, 
Up  spoke  a  stranger  from  Navarre  : 
"  Cease,  gentlemen  !  your  wordy  war! 
I  've  tippled  wine  of  every  sort, 
Canary,  Malta,  Xeres,  Port, 
And  many  a  famous  tap  beside  ; 
All  brands  and  ages  have  I  tried,  — 
The  white,  the  red,  the  old,  the  new, 
The  good,  the  bad,  the  false,  the  true; 
I  've  drunk  in  cellar,  booth,  and  inn; 


172 


THE  ROYAL   CONCERT. 


I  *ve  drunk  from  bottle,  cnsk.  ami  skin  ; 
And  if  there  he  a  jnd<*e  of  wine. 
To  know  the  fair,  the  foul,  the  fine, 
In  glnss  or  bumper,  cup  or  can,  — 
By  jolly  Bacchus  !     I  'm  the  man  ! 
Crede  experto .'    Take  my  word, 
For  all  the  nnnscuse  yo.i  have  heard 
Ahont  the  charm  of  '  old  '  or  '  new,' 
'T  is  trial  only  tests  the  true  ! 
Old  wine  may  still  be  wretched  stuff,- 
And  new  wine  excellent  enough 
For  men  or  gods  !    No  rule  on  earth, 
Save  drinking,  can  decide  its  worth, 
Give  me  good  wine,  and  I  engage 
I  '11  not  inquire  about  its  age ! " 


In  Books  and  Art  some  bid  us  seek 
The  highest  worth  in  the  "  antique  "  ; 
While  other  critics  (just  as  wise) 
No  genius  but  the  "  modern  "  prize  : 
In  judging  either,  I  protest 
I  think  the  toper's  rule  is  best ! 


THE  ROYAL  CONCERT. 

TRIARTE. 

THE  animals  once,  —  so  the  legends  re- 

To    honor   the   Lion,    their    popular 

king, 
A  concert  proposed,  in  his  majesty's 

court, 
At  which  all  the  brutes  were  invited 

to  sing. 

Not   all.  —  I  should  sav,  as  a   lover  of 

truth,— 
For  somehow  or  other  the  managers 

missed 
The  principal  matter,  and  managed,  in 

sooth, 

To  have  the  best  singers  left  out  of 
the  list ! 

Not    a    Nightingale,    Wood-Thrush,    or 

Blackbird  was  in  it ; 
Nay,  even  the  Lark  and  Canary  were 

slighted  ; 
No  mention    was  made  of  the  musical 

L'nnet ; 

But  all  of  the  others  were  warmly  in- 
vited ! 


There  was  plenty  of  jealousy,  you  may 

be  sure, 

And    wrangling   enough,  —  as   is  al- 
ways the  case 
When  the  cleverest  maestro  attempts  to 

secure 

For  each  of  his  singers  the  properest 
place. 

'Tis  settled   at  last;   the  rehearsal   is 

done ; 
And  now  for  the  Concert  the  vocal 

ists  meet, 
With    no    fear    of    failure,  for    every 

one 

What  he  's  wanting  in  talent  makes 
up  in  conceit ! 

A    couple    of  Hornets    the    tenor   es- 
sayed ; 
The-   Crickets    attempted   the   treble 

and  alto  ; 
The  basso  (of  course)  by  a  Donkey  was 

brayed ; 

While  to   Locusts  and  Frogs  was  as- 
signed the  contralto! 

The  singers  commence !  —  but  no  an- 
swering cheers 

Reward  their  endeavors,  —  the  audi- 
ence swore 
(While  some  ran  away  and  some  ^opt 

up  their  ears) 

That   never  was  music  so  murdered 
before  ! 

At  this,    the  performers,   abating   their 

noise, 

Sought,  each  for   himself,    some   in- 
genious excuse ; 
And  straight  on  his  fellows  with  vigor 

employs 

The  fiercest  reproaches   and  foulest 
abuse. 

The  Frogs  snid  the  Crickets  were  quite 

out  of  place ; 
Such  villainous  treble  they  never  had 

heard ; 
The  Crickets  replied  by  denouncing  the 

bass  ; 

A  Donkey  sing  bassf — it  was  truly 
absurd ! 

"  'T  was  the  fault  of  the  Frogs  ! "  was 

the  Donkey's  reply  ; 
"  'T  is    clearly   the   Hornets'  I  "    the 
Locusts  exclaim ; 


THE  FIGHTING  COCKS. 


173 


The  Hornets  returned,  "  'T  is  a  thunder- 
ing lie  !  " 

And  on   their  accusers  retorted   the 
blame. 

Then  the  King  of  the  Beasts,  who  could 

bear  it  no  more, 
Looked  down  from  his  throne,  with  a 

growl  and  a  grin, 
And  thus  spoke  his  mind,  in  a  terrible 

roar, 

Which  silenced  at  once  their  obstrep- 
erous din :  — 

"  Go !  —  ont  of  my  hearing,  ye  ignorant 

crew  ; 

Ere  it   came  to   the   trial,   each  im- 
pudent wight 
Was  boasting  the  wonderful  things  he 

could  do; 

Quick  !  out  of  my  hearing  and  out  of 
my  bight ! " 


So  in  human  affairs,  when  pretenders, 

who  once 
In  arrogant  boasting  had   vied  with 

each  other, 
Meet  a  common  disaster,  —  then  every 

dunce 
Excuses  himself  by  accusing  another! 


THE  BARN-YARD  CRITICS. 

YRIARTE. 

A  PIG  and  Sheep  together  slept 

In   the   same   farm-yard ;   and   with 
these 

A  gallant  Cork  his  vigils  kept,  — 
Who,  with  hi*  fellows,  dwelt  in  peace. 

"  A  pleasant  sort  of  life  is  this," 
The   Porker   said.       "Say,   Madam 
Sht*p  ! 

Is  not  the  highest  earthly  bliss 
To  lie  at  ease,  and  eat  and  sleep  ? 

"  For  me,  I  think  the  perfect  leisure 

And  luxury  in  which  we  live, 
Worth  more  than  all  the  active  pleas- 
ure 

That   men   or  gods    have  power   to 
give !  " 


The  woolly  dame  has  nnught  to  say,  — 
Too  meek   to   answer ;   though  she 
tries, 

While  listening  in  a  civil  way, 
To  look  (in  vain  !)  extremely  wise! 

But  Chanticleer,  who  chanced  to  hear 
These  sage  reflections,  cocked  his  eye, 

Gave  a  shrill  crow  his  throat  to  clear, 
And  thus  to  Piggie  made  reply  :  — 

"  A  sleepy  life,  I  must  confess, 
Were  very  little  to  my  taste  ; 

To  live  —  like  you  —  in  idleness, 
Of  time  is,  sure,  a  foolish  waste. 

"  To  rule  the  roost,  and  strut  about, 
That 's  happiness,  in  my  belief  ; 

A  little  sleep  is  well,  no  doubt, 

But,  for  one"s   health,  it  should  be 
brief. 

"  In  fact,  I  Ve  tried  it ;  and  I  find 
One's     slumbers    should    be    always 

light  ; 
Sleep  surely  stupefies  the  mind, 

While  watching  makes  it  clear  and 
bright." 

While  thus  they  argue,  loud  and  long, 
The  patient  Skeep  has  listened  well ; 

But  which  is  right  and  which  is  wrong 
Is  something  more  than  she  can  tell. 


She  little  dreams  the  wranglers  draw 
( Like  other  critics,  great  and  small). 

Each  from  himself  the  narrow  law 
By  which  he  seeks  to  govern  all !. 


THE  FIGHTING  COCKS. 

YHIARTE. 

A  FINE  old  cock  —  a  cock  renowned,. 
In  brief,  for  many  a  mile  around 
His  native  farm-yard  — <-  came  at  length. 
With  a  young  cock  to  pit  his  strength  : 
A  callow  chick,  who  fought  so  well, 
Despite  the  odds,  that  —  strange  to 

tell  — 

The  elder  was  compelled  to  yield, 
And,  fairly  vanquished,  leave  the  field 
And  laurel  to  his  youthful  foe, 
Who  now  .set  up  a  lusty  crow, 
As  dunghill  victors  always  will, 
In  pride  of  courage,  strength,  or.  skill;. 


174 


THE  LIZARDS. 


All  breathless  with  the  battle's  heat, 
The  other  sought  a  safe  retreat, 
Where  thus  he  gave  reflection  tongue : 
"  Well  fought  —  by  JOTC  !  —  for  one  so 

young  ! 

Give  him  the  proper  age  and  height, 
He  'd  make,  110  doubt,  a  pretty  fight !  " 

No  more  our  philosophic  bird 
With  his  late  foe  was  seen  or  heard 
In  close  debate,  for  well  he  knows 
That  words,  at  last,  may  come  to  blows ; 
And  with  a  chick  so  fierce  and  tough, 
One  trial  clearly  was  enough ! 

But  soon  it  chanced  occasion  lent 
A  turn  to  give  his  temper  vent  ; 
A  neighbor  truculent  and  bold 
Despite  his  years  (for  he  was  old, 
And  long  h;id  gloried  in  the  praise 
Of  brave  exploits  in  former  days), 
Our  hero  forced  into  a  fight, 
And,  rallying  with  all  his  might, 
Soon  drove  him  fairly  from  the  ground  ! 

Alone  at  last,  —  he  looked  arouLd, 
And  seeing  that  the  coast  was  clear, 
That  none  the  monologue  might  hear, 
Thus  to  himself  expressed  his  mind  : 
"  What  unexpected  things  we  find  ! 
For  such  an  old  historic  cock 
How  well  he  bore  the  battle  shock  ! 
How  venerable  age  appears  ! 
And  so  I  spared  him  —  for  his  years !  " 


How  shrewdly  men  contrive  to  hide, 
E'en  from   themselves,  their  wounded 
pride ! 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  AND  THE 
ORGAN. 


A  Niyhtinqale  who  chanced  to  hear 
An  Organ's  deep  and  swelling  tone, 

Was  wont  to  leml  a  careful  ear, 
That  so  she  might  improve  her  own. 

One  evening,  while  the  Organ's  note 
Thrilled  through  the  wood,  and  Phil- 
omel 

Bat  tuning  her  melodious  throat 
To  imitate  its  wondrous  swell, 

&  twittering  Spairow,  hopping  near, 
Said,   '•  Prithee,  now,  be  pleased  to 
state 


What  from  those  wooden  pipes  you  hear 
That  you  can  wish  to  imitate  ? 

"  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say, 

Whatever  the  stupid  "thing  can  do 
To  please  us,  in  a  vocal  way, 

That  very  Organ  learned'  from  you  ! 

"  Of  all  sweet  singers  none  is  greater 
Than  Philomel  ;  but,  on  mv  word! 

To  imitate  one's  imitator,  —  * 
Can  aught  on  earth  be  more  absurd  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Nightingale,  "  if  aught 
From  me  the  Organ  ever  learned, 

By  him  no  less  have  I  been  taught, 
And  thus  the  favor  is  returned. 

"  Thus  to  my  singing  —  don't  yon  see? 

Some  needed  culture  I  impart  ; 
For  Nature's  gifts,  as  all  agree, 

Are  finest  when  improved  by  Art  !  " 


Whate'er  the  foolish  Sparrow  thought, 
The  Nightingale  (so  Wisdom  votes) 

Was  wise  in  choosing  to  be  taught 
E'en  by  an  Organ's  borrowed  notes. 

And  hence  the  Student  may  obtain 
Some  useful  rules  to  guide  his  course 

Shun  self-conceit  ;  nor  e'er  disdain 
Instruction  from  the  humblest  source'. 


THE  LIZARDS. 

TBIARTE. 

A  FAMOUS  Naturalist,  whose  knife 
Made  cruel  work  with  insect  life, 
Dissecting  muscle,  vein,  and  nerve, 
Remorseless,  —  with  intent  to  serve 
The  cause  of  Science,  and  no  thought 
Of  all  the  suffering  he  wrought,  — 
Two  lizards  in  his  garden  caught, 
And  straight  proceeded  to  dissect 
The  biggest  one,  and  then  inspect 
The  severed  parts,  head,  tail,  and  skin 
And  all  the  mysteries  within  ; 
And  as  each  part  is  made  to  pass 
Beneath  his  microscopic  gla.-s. 
He  take*  his  pen,  and  in  a  book 
Records  each  scientific  look, 
For  future  use  :  then  takes  his  pen, 
And  with  his  glass  begins  again. 


THE  LACE-WEAVERS. 


175 


Weary  at  length,  he  stops  to  hear 
kemarkti  of  frieuds.     Some  only  sneer 
At  what  thev  deem  mere  waste  of  time, 
If  not  —  for  cruelty  —  a  crime  ; 
While  others  marvel  much  to  learn 
(As  at  the  glass  they  take  their  turn) 
What  mighty  things  are  lodged  within 
The  compass  of  a  lizard's  skin  ! 
While  thus  they  talk  of  what  the  eye 
Of  Science  caused  them  to  descry 
In  tlie  dead  lizard,  sooth  to  say, 
His  living  brother  ran  away  !  " 

Arrived  at  home,  he  quickly  sends 
An  invitation  to  his  friends 
To  come  and  hear  what  wondrous  things 
From  his  late  tour  the  traveler  brings  ; 
Then  tells  the  story  you  have  heard 
( Aliove),  omitting  not  a  word 
Of  all  that  to  his  friend  occurred. 
"  Strange  as  it  seems,"  the  lizard  cries, 
"  'T  is  true !     I  saw  it  with  these  eyes ! 
Now  if  such  things  in  us  there  be 
As  men  of  Science  stare  to  see, 
And  straightway  write  the  items  down, — 
Say,  shall  we  heed  the  stupid  clown 
Who  calls  us  lizards  '  vermin  '  ?     Nay ! 
Whatever  envious  folks  may  say, 
We  're  clearly  noble.     Let  us  claim 
The  rank  that  suits  the  lizard's  name !  " 


MORAL. 

When  keen  Reviewers  criticise 
The  stuff  that  puny  authors  write 

(Which  worms  alone  should  analvze), 
They  only  give  the  fools  delight, 

Who  cry,  "'The  book  is  surely  great 

Which  so  much  interest  can  create  !  " 


FLINT  AND   STEEL. 


THE  Flint  and  Steel  — the  story  goes  — 
Old  friends  by  natural  relation, 

Fell  out,  one  day,  and,  like  two  foes, 
Indulged  in  bitter  altercation. 

'  I  'm  weary,"  said  the  angry  Flint, 
"  Of   being  beat ;  't  is  past  conceal- 
ing; 

ITour  conduct  (witness  many  a  dint 
Upon  my  sides!)  is  most  unfeeling. 

'And  what  reward  have  I  to  show  ? 
What  sort  of  payment  do  you  render, 


To  one  who  bears  each  hateful  blow 
That    you    may    blaze    iu    transient 
splendor  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  think  yourself  abused," 
The  Steel  replied  with  proper  spirit ; 

"But,  say,  unless  with  me  you  Ye  used, 
What  praise  of  service  do  you  merit  ? 

"  Your  worth,  as  any  one  may  see 
(For  all  your  feeling  of  detiauce), 

Is  simply  nought,  unless  with  me 
You  keep  your  natural  alliance." 

"  True  !  "  said  the  Flint;  "  but  there  '• 

no  call, 
Whate'er  my  worth,  for  you  to  float 

it; 

Mv  value,  sir,  may  be  but  small ; 
But  think  what  yours  would  be  with- 
out it !  " 


The  writer  who  depends  alone 
On  genius,  hoping  to  be  able 

To  cope  with  scholars  fully  grown, 
May  profit  by  this  simple  fable. 

As  from  the  Steel  no  fire  comes  forth, 
Until  it  feels  the  Flint's  abrasion ; 

So  genius  is  of  little  worth 
Without  the  aid  of  cultivation. 


THE  LACE-WEAVERS. 

TEIARTE. 

ONCE  in  Madrid  —  the  story  goes  — 
Between  two  artisans  arose 
A  question  of  such  special  weight, 
It  held  them  long  in  grave  debate, 
Thouirh  each  —  't  is  only  fair  to  say  — 
Discussed  it  in  a  candid  way, 
Unlike  debaters  who,  in  sooth, 
Care  more  for  victory  than  truth. 
Both    men    were    weavers,    we    are 

told: 

One  made  galloons,  or  lace-of  gold ; 
The  other  lace-of -linen,  finb 
At  once  in  texture  and  design. 
"  Who,"  said  the  former,  "  would  sup- 

pose 

That  while  (as  everybody  knows) 
My  lace  of  purest  gold  is  wrought, 
For  vastly  less  it  may  be  bought 


176 


THE  SHAM  LIBRARY. 


Thau  yours,  my   neignbor,  which,  in- 
stead 

Of  gold,  is  made  of  flaxen  thread  ? 
Pray  tell  me  why  (/  can't  divine) 
Yours  svlls  for  thrice  as  much  as  mine  1 " 
"  Faiih  !  "  said  the  other,  "  to  my  mind, 
The  reason  is  not  hard  to  find  ; 
You  work  in  gold,  and  I  in  thread  ; 
If,  sax  in1.;  so,  the  whole  were  said, 
Your  lace  would  surely  far  exceed 
My  lace  in  value.     'T  is  agreed  ! 
You  work  in  gold  ;  I  grant  it,  —  still 
Your  Itest  galloons  show  little  skill 
Compared    with    what    the    eye    may 

trace 

In  my  tine  webs  of  linen  lace; 
Kich  workmanship,  my  worthy  friend, 
Gives  \alue  gold  can  liever  lend  !  " 


Hence  critics,  who  are  fam  to  srmle 

When  readers  praise  an  author's  style, 

As  if  the  matter  were  the  test 

Of  what  iu  authorship  is  best, 

May  learn  how  much  the  writer's  art, 

By  style  and  fini-h  may  impart 

To    works   which    else    had    failed   to 

claim 
The  worth  that  gives  undying  fame  ! 


THE   SHAM  LIBRARY. 

TRIARTE. 

ONCE,  in  Madrid,  there  dwelt  a  worthy 

man. 
And    wealthy   too,    of    whom  't  was 

truly  said 
His  house  —  the  best  the  architects  could 

plan  — 

Was  vastly  better  furnished  than  his 
head ! 

And  vet  one  room  this  splendid  dwell- 
ing lacked 
A  wealthy  squire  should  have,  beyond 

a  doultt ; 

To  wit.  a  Library,  — a  thing  in  fact 
"  No  gentleman  can  fairly  live  with- 
out." 

Bo  said  a  neighbor,  adding  his  advice 
That  one  be  built  without  the  least 
.lelay ; 


"And  let,"  he  said,     the  room  be  laigt 

and  nice ; 

By  Jove !    I  would  n't  wait   another 
day  ! " 

"  Egad !  "  he  answered,  "  I  must  find  a 

spot 
Somewhere  about  the  house ;  of  course 

I  know 
A  man  wants  books,  and  books,  sir,  shall 

be  got ; 

If  not  for  use,  they  're  requisite  for 
show ! 

"I  have   it  now!   my  carpenter  shall 

use 
What  space  he  chooses  in  the  northern 

wing ; 
One   sees  from   there  the   loveliest  of 

views ; 

Faith  !   on   reflection,  it  is  just   the 
thing! 

"  I  '11  have  it  finished  in  the  finest  style; 

Such  as  may  suit  a  gentleman's  abode ; 

With  doors  and  slulvcs  ("t  will  cost  a 

pretty  pile !) 

All  stained  and  gilded   in  the  latest 
mode. 

"  And  then  I  '11  send  mv  trusty  servant 

Bob 
(An   honest   fellow  and    the   best  of 

cooks, 

And  a' ways  clever  at  a  tasty  job), 
By  careful   measurement,  to  buy  the 
books." 

But  ere  the  work  was  done,  from  floor 

to  shelf, 
The  owner,  pondering  on    the  great 

expense 

Incurred  already,  said  within  himself: 
"This  room,  egad  !  is  really  quite  im- 
mense ! 

"  With  handsome  books  these  cases  to 

supply 

Will  cost  a  sum  of  money  rather  tall  J 
But  since  I  merely  aim  to   please  the 

eye, 

Pray,  what 's  the  use  of  real  books  at 
"all? 

"A  thousand  gilded  backs  will  do  as 

well, 

Lettered    to    look    like    volumes  ail 
a-row ; 


THE   TURKEY  AND   THE   CROW. 


177 


Were  wooden  backs  in  fact,  but  who  can 

tell 

They  are  not  real,  I  should  like  to 
know ! " 

So  said,  so  done  ;  and  now  at  length  be- 
hold 
All  things  complete.     With  pride  the 

owner  looks 
To    see  —  at    little    cost    of    precious 

gold  — 

His  wooden  cases  filled  with  wooden 
books! 


"  A   fool ! "   you   say,   "  to    spend    his 

money  so ! " 

Well  —  not  a  very  Solomon,  indeed  ; 
But  wiser,  sure,  than  they  who  buy  for 

show 

The  costlv  volumes  which  they  never 
^          read  f 


THE   GOAT   AND   THE   HORSE. 

THIARTE. 

A  GOAT  who  lent  a  ravished  ear 
A  Fiddle's  harmony  to  hear,  — 
The  while  unconsciously  his  feet 
The  viol's  measures  gayly  beat,  — 
Unto  a  Horse,  who  near  him  stood, 
So  rapt  he  quite  forgot  his  food 
In  the  sweet  music  of  the  hour, 
(Such     was     the     player's     wondrous 

power ! ) 
Thus,  when  the  witching  strains  were 

done, 

A  boastful  monologue  begun  : 
"  My  honest  neighbor,  do  you  know 
Whence  came  the  sounds  that  charmed 

us  so? 

The  viol  which  so  sweetly  sings 
Owes  all  its  music  to  the  Strin/js; 
And  those  same  strings  —  be  pleased  to 

note  — 

Came  from  the  bowels  of  a  Goat ! 
(A  mate  of  mine  you  may  have  seen 
With  me  upon  the  village  green; 
Where,  side  liy  side,  we  used  to  play 
Through    many   a    pleasant  summer's 

day.) 

And  who  can  tell,  my  worthy  friend, 
But  /,  some  happy  day,  may  lend 
The  like  assistance  to  "the  art 
12 


1  Which  lias  such   power  to  charm  the 

henrt  ? " 

"  True  !  "  said  the  Nag ;  "  but  not  alone 
Are  strings  required  to  give  the  tone 
The  viol  boasts  ;  pray,  do  not  I 
From  my  long  tail  the  hairs  supply 
With  which  the  Bow  so  deftly  brings 
The  music  from  the  stupid  strings? 
The  cost  to  me  is  surely  small 
(A  little  fright,  — no  pain  at  all). 
Then,  for  the  pleasure  that  I  give 
I  have  my  payment  while  I  live 
In  conscious  pride ;  while  you,  instead, 
Must  wait  for  yours  till  you  are  dead!" 


Some  authors  thus,  who  vainly  strive 
For  fame  while  they  are  yet  alive, 
Write  on,  in  hope  that  after  death 
Their    works     may     win     applauding 
breath ! 


THE  TURKEY  AND  THE  CROW. 

TRIARTE. 

A  POMPOUS  old  Turkey,  conceited  and 

vain, 
As  deeming    himself    of    a  lordlier 

breed 
Than  the  wandering  birds  of  the  forest 

and  plain, 

Once  challenged  a  Crow  to  a  trial  of 
speed. 

If  you  e'er  saw  a  Crow  as  he  sailed 

through  the  sky, 
And  noticed  how  lightly  and  swiftly 

he  went, 
Compared  with  a  Turkey  attempting  to 

fly, 

Of  this  notable  match  you  will  guess 
the  event. 

"  I  say ! "  screamed    the   Gobbler,    as 

falling  behind 

He  saw  his  antagonist  certain  to  win, 
"  Look  here !  did  it  ever  occur  to  your 

mind 

You  're  as  black  as  the  deace  and  as 
ugly  as  sin  ? 

"Moreover,"    he    cries,    "I  have  fre- 
quently heard 

You  're  the  odious  tool  of  the  treach 
erous  Fates; 


178 


THE  SILKWORM  AND   THE  CATERPILLAR. 


A  wicked,  uncanny,  Plutonian  bird  ; 
A  monster  of  evil  whom  every  one 
hates ! 

"  Away  with  yourself !  it  is  loathsome 

to  see 

A  fowl  who  on  carrion  feeds  with  de- 
light ; 
From  birds  who  are  decent  no  wonder 

you  flee ; 

The  faster,  the  better  !  —  quick !  out 
of  my  sight !  " 

The  match  being  over,  the  winner  re- 
plied : 
"  You  spoke  of  my  color,  —  that  is  n't 

the  thing : 
The  question,  I  think,  which  we  met  to 

decide 

Was  which  of  the  two  is  the  fleeter 
of  wing." 


Some  critics,  aware  they  are  likely  to 

fail 

In  argument,  follow  a  similar  plan ; 
The  works  of.  the  author  't  were  vain  to 

assail, 

And  so  they  endeavor  to  injure  the 
man! 


THE  BEE  AND  THE  CUCKOO. 

YRIARTE. 

A  BKE,  whose  dainty  ear  had  grown 
Quite  weary  of  the  monotone 
Which  ever  from  the  Cuckoo's  throat 
Repeated  one  unvarying  note, 
At  last  besought  the  tiresome  bird, 
For  mercy's  sake,  to  change  the  word; 
"  'T  is  '  Cuckoo  !  Cuckoo  ! '  all  day  long ! 
Pray,  cease  your  egotistic  song  : 
k  makes  me  nervous,  sooth  to  say, 
And  quite  unfits  to  work  or  play  1" 
'"  You  call  mv  song  monotonous  ? 
Well,  since  yon  choose  to  make  a  fuss 
About  my  singing,  tell  me  why 
<Exclaimed  the  Cuckoo,  in  reply) 
Your  honey-cells  yon  always  frame 
Alike,  — in  size  and  shape  the  same  ? 
If  I'm  monotonous,  —  confess 
The  fault  you  find  is  yours  no  less !  " 
"  Nay  !  "  said  the  Bee,  "  a  thing  of  use 
Has  in  its  worth  a  fair  excuse 


For  many  a  fault  that  else  would  be 
A  hateful  thing  to  hear  or  see  ; 
While  arts  designed  to  please  the  taste 
With  varied  beauties  must  be  graced; 
And,  lacking  these,  they  serve  alone 
To    pain    us,  —  like    your    '  Cuckoo 
tone !  " 


THE  SILKWORM  AND  THE 
CATERPILLAR. 


ONCE  on  a  time  —  if  tales  are  true  — 
Among  the  animals  a  movement 

Was  started  by  the  foremost  few 
To  aid  their  mutual  improvement ; 

A  scheme  was  planned  —  whate'er  the 
name  — 

To  mend  their  physical  condition; 
And  in  its  nature  much  the  same 

As  our  "  Industrial  Exposition." 

To  this  the  tribes  of  every  sort 
And  element  —  fur,  flu,  and  feather  — 

In  friendly  rivalry  resort, 
And  their  inventions  bring  together. 

Among  a  hundred  useful  things, 

And  many  more  designed  for  winning 

Esthetic  praise,  the  SiHnoorm  brings 
A  knot  of  thread  of  home-made  spin- 
ning ; 

A  silk  cocoon !  —  how  soft  and  bright ! 

All  eyes  are  glistening  with  pleasure; 
How  charming  to  the  touch  and  si^ht ! 

And  then,  for  fabrics,  what  a  treas- 
ure ! 

The  very  Mole  is  not  so  blind 
But  she  can  see  the  thing  is  pretty  ; 

And  "  Premium   First "   declares  the 

mind 
Of  the  unanimous  "  Committee  '  " 

At  last  a  croaking  voice  is  heard; 

The  Caterpillar's,  in  dissension ; 
"'Cocoons  !  — a  trifle  —  on  my  word! 

And  then  they  're  not  a  new  inveD 
tion ! " 

The  beasts,  amazed,  with  one  accord 
Cried,  "  Who  is  this,  whose  pert  deci 
sion 


THE  MONKEY-TOURIST. 


179 


Would  overrule  our  grave  award,  I 

And   treat  our  judgment  with   deri- 
sion ! " 

"  I  see  !  "  said  Reynard  (cunning  elf!) 
"  "T  is  Mr.  Caterpillar,  surely  ! 

The  fellow  makes  cocoons  himself, 
Anil  thinks  all  others  spin  as  poorly  ! " 


When  critics  (would-be  authors  once) 
Would  rob  true  Genius  of  her  glory, 

One  sees  in  each  detracting  dunce 
The  Caterpillar  of  my  story  I 


THE   MONKEY-SHOWMAN. 


A  MONKEY  who,  by  many  a  prank, 
Had  served  a  strolling  mountebank, 
And  long  had  sought,  with  curious 

eye, 

The  secret  of  his  arts  to  spy, 
Grew  so  inflated  with  conceit, 
He  swore  that  there  was  not  a  feat 
His  muster  did,  to  charm  the  crowd, 
But  he  could  do,  —  were  he  allowed 
To  show  his  skill.     So,  on  a  day 
When  Mister  Showman  was  away, 
And  Jocko  chanced  to  stav  at  home. 
He  summoned  all  his  friends  to  come 
And  note  how  surely  he  would  raise 
The  customary  shouts  of  praise. 

He  made  his  bow.  and  straight  began 
To  play  the  "  India-Rubber  man," 
Who  in  contorted  shapes  appears, 
And  stands  —  at  last  —  upon  his  ears  ! 
Next,  dances  on  the  swinging  wire ; 
Then,  as  applauding  shouts  inspire 
To  bolder  deeds,  he  mounts  with  ease 
And  safely  braves  the  high  trapeze: 
Then  takes  ,-\  musket,  and  with  ,-<kill 
Performs  the  Prussian  soldier's  drill ; 
At  last  —  as  was  his  master's  way, 
To  close  the  wonders  of  the  day  — 
He  brings  the  "Magic  Lantern"  out, 
Darkens  the  room,  and  talks  a»out 
The  curious  things  that  on  the  screen 
By  watchful  eyes  will  noio  be  seen; 
Then  moves  the  plates  of  painted  glass 
From  side  to  side,  and  as  they  pass, 
Announces  in  a  pompous  speech 
The  name  and  character  of  each 
Delightful  scene  that  greets  their  eyes ! 


What  can   it  mean  ?  —  no  cheens 

arise !  _ 

A  storm  of  hisses  come  instead, 
So  fierce  the  frightened  monkey  fled, 
And,  having  reached  a  safer  place, 
Was  told  the  cause  of  his  disgrace  ; 
To  wit,  that,  while  all  else  was  right, 
His  "  Magic  Lantern  "  had  no  light ! 


How  bootless  are  the  author's  pains 
Who  lacks  illuminating  brains! 


THE    OIL-MERCHANT'S  ASS. 


AN  Ass,  whose  customary  toil 
Was  bearing  heavy  sacks  of  oil 
(The  kind  which  often  serves,  at  night, 
Our  houses,  shops,  and  streets  to  light), 
His  ln!x>r  over  for  the  day, 
Straight  to  his  stable  took  his  way; 
But,  as  he  sought  to  enter  there, 
The  groping  donkey,  unaware, 
Against  the  door-hasp  hit  his  nose; 
Whereat  his  indignation  rose 
To  such  a  pitch,  he  roundly  swore, 
(As  many  an  ass  has  done  "before !) 
And  thus,  in  wrath,  expressed  his  mind : 
"  By  Jove  !  one  might  as  well  be  blind, 
As  break  his  noddle  in  the  dark 
For  want  of  light !     A  single  spark 
Had  saved  my  skin ;  but  not  a  ray 
My  master  gives  to  light  my  way. 
I,  who  for  others  daily  toil, 
And  fill  a  thousand  lamps  with  oil, 
For  lack  of  one  —  so  justice  goes  !  — 
Against  the  door  must  break  my  uose! " 


The  miser,  who,  to  gather  pelf 

For  thankless  heirs,  defrauds  himself ; 

The  ignoramus,  proud  to  show 

His  gilded  volumes  all  a-row,  — 

Such  men  as  these  may  we  not  class 

(Poor  donkeys !)  with  the  Oilman's  Ass  I 


THE  MONKEY-TOURIST. 


A  MONKEY  clad  in  cloth-of-gold 
(So  in  the  proverb  we  are  told) 


180 


LOVE  AND  JOY. 


Will  he  a  Monkey  still.     The  aim 
Of  this  ucw  fable  is  the  same ; 
Pray,  listen  while  I  tell  in  rhyme 
The  tale  how,  once  upon  a  time, 
A  Monkey,  drest  in  garments  brigh* 
With  gaudy  colors  such  as  might 
Become  a  Harlequin,  set  out  — 
To  show  her  finery,  no  doubt  — 
Upon  her  travels.     In  what  way, 
By  ship  or  coach,  I  cannot  say  ; 
T  is  only  known  her  journey  ran 
As  far  abroad  as  Tetuan  : 
A  country  —  as  I  understand  — 
On  maps  set  down  as  "Monkey-land"; 
And  widely  famous  as  the  place 
Win-re  most  abound  the  simiiin  race, 
And  where,  one  scarcely  needs  to  add, 
The  chattering  tribes  are  simply  clad 
In  their  own  skins,  and  know  no  more 
Of  dre.-s  than  Mother  Eve,  before 
She  ate  of  the  forbidden  fruit, 
And  donned,  for  shame,  her  fig-leaf  suit. 
Here  —  as  the  reader  may  suppose  — 
Our  lady-tourist  proudly  shows, 
With  many  a  change,  her  gay  attire, 


Which  all  the  natives  much  admke , 
And  think  the  wearer  must  possess 
A  mind  as  brilliant  as  her  dress, 
And,  thereupon,  the  stranger  made 
Their  leader  in  a  coming  raid 
For  forage,  in  the  country  round, 
Where  monkey-provender  was  found. 
Alas,  the  day  !  her  clothing  proved 
An  obstacle  \\  here'er  she  moved  ; 
And  when  the  weary  day  was  done, 
Her  gaudy  garments,  —  every  one,  — 
That  in  the  morning  looked  so  fine, 
Were  strewn  in  rags  along  the  line 
Through  which  the  expedition  led; 
And  she,  worn  out  and  nearly  dead, 
At  night  was  but  the  scoff  and  scorn 
Of  those  who  hailed  her  "queen" 
morn! 


A  thousand  instances  confess 
That  judging  people  by  their  dress, 
As  bright  or  brave,  is  a  mistake 
That  men  as  well  as  monkeys  make  1 


FABLES  AND   LEGENDS 

OF  MANY  COUNTRIES. 
TO  MY  THREE  DAUGHTERS, 

THIS    LITTLE    BOOK    IS    AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 


LOVE  AND  JOY. 


AN   ALLEGORY. 

LONG,  long  ago,  ere  Sin  had  come 

To  make  the  earth  forlorn, 
Somewhere,  within  an  Eastern  home, 

Two  pretty  babes  were  born. 

The  younger  was  a  maiden  fair , 

The  elder  was  a  boy; 
And,  for  their  names,  the  infant  pair 

Were  christened  Love  and  Joy. 

And  as  they  grew  in  years  and  strength, 
Together  they  would  rove 


As  merry  mates,  until  at  length 
Joy  seemed  the  twin  of  Love  ! 

And  so,  at  length,  it  came  to  pass 
That  all  the  neighbors  said, 

Some  happy  day  the  lad  and  lass 
Were  certain  to  be  wed. 

In  sooth,  such  happy  mates  they  seemed, 
And  so  attached  at  heart,  — 

The   pretty    pair,  —  who   would   have 

deemed 
That  they  would  ever  part  ? 

But  so  it  fell ;  alas,  the  wrong! 
And  woe  betide  the  da/ 


THE   TWO   CHURCH-BUILDERS. 


181 


That  S'n,  the  monster !  came  along 
And  frightened  Joy  away  ! 

And  so  poor  Lore,  when  Joy  had  flown, 

Since  he  could  not  abide 
To  live  umvedded  and  alone, 

Took  Sorrow  for  his  bride  ; 

As  sad  a  bride  as  e'er  was  seen 

To  grace  a  marriage-bed  ; 
With  scowling  brow  and  murky  mien, 
'And  cypress  round  her  head. 

And  to  the  twain  a  child  was  born, 
That  bore  of  each  a  part,  — 

The  mother's  countenance  forlorn, 
The  father's  tender  heart. 

"  Pity,"    they    called    her,  —  gentle 
child  ; 

And  from  her  infant  days 
Her  voice  was  ever  sweet  and  mild, 

And  winning  were  her  ways. 

And  once,  ere  she  had  learned  to  walk, 

While  in  her  cradle-nest, 
A  dove,  that  fled  the  cruel  hawk, 

Sought  safety  on  her  breast. 

The  robin-redbreast  came  to  seek 

A  home  where  Pity  dwelt ; 
And  all  things  timorous  ami  weak 

Her  kind  compassion  felt. 

Ah,  sweet,  sad  face!  her  mixed  descent 

Was  shown  in  her  attire, 
And  with  the  mother's  cypress  blent 

The  myrtle  of  her  sire'. 

And  ever  since  to  woman's  height 
The  maiden  grew,  she  roams 

Through  all  the  world,  an  angel  bright, 
To  gladden  human  homes. 

Her  office  still  to  follow  where 
Her  mother's  feet  have  strayed. 

And  soothe  and  heal,  with  render  care, 
The  wounds  the  dame  has  made. 

Hut  both  are  mortal,  sages  write, 
And  so  they  both  must  die ; 

Sorrow,  at  last,  will  cease  to  smite, 
'And  Pity  cease  to  sigh. 

And  then  will  Joy  return,  they  say, 
From  heaven,  where  she  had  flown, 

And  Lone,  forever  and  for  aye, 
Be  married  to  his  own. 


THE   TWO   CHURCH-BUILDERS 

AN    ITALIAN    LEGEND. 

A  FAMOUS  king  would  build  a  church, 

A  temple  vast  aud  grand ; 
And,  that  the  praise  might  be  his  own, 

He  gave  a  strict  command 
That  none  should  add  the  smallest  gift 

To  aid  the  work  he  planned. 

And  when  the  mighty  dome  was  done, 

Within  the  noble  frame. 
Upon  a  tablet  broad  and  fair, 

In  letters  all  aflame 
With  burnished  gold,  the  people  read 

The  royal  builder's  name. 

Now  when  the  King,  elate  with  pride, 
That  night  had  sought  his  bed, 

He  dreamed  he  saw  an  angel  come 
(A  halo  round  his  head), 

Erase  the  royal  name,  aud  write 
Another  in  its  stead. 

What  could  it  mean  ?    Three  times  that 
night 

That  wondrous  vision  came  ; 
Three  times  he  saw  that  angel  hand 

Erase  the  royal  name, 
And  write  a  woman's  in  its  stead, 

In  letters  all  aflame. 

Whose    could    it  be  ?    He  gave  com- 
mand 

To  all  about  his  throne 
To  seek  the  owner  of  the  name 

That  on  the  tablet  shone  ; 
And  so  it  was  the  courtiers  found 

A  widow  poor  and  lone. 

The  King,  enraged  at  what  he  heard, 
Cried,  "  Bring  the  culprit  here  !  " 

And  to  the  woman  trembling  sore 
He  sjiid,  "  'T  is  very  clear 

That  you  have  broken  my  command ; 
Now  let  the  truth  appear  !  " 

"  Yonr  Majesty,"  the  Widow  said, 

"  I  can't  deny  the  truth  ; 
I  love  the  Lord,  —  my  Lord  and  yours.  — 

And  so,  in  simple  sooth, 
I  broke  your  Majesty's  command 

(I  crave  your  royal  ruth  !) 

"  And  since  I  had  no  money,  Sire, 
Why,  I  could  only  pray 


182 


THE  BEACON-LIGHT. 


That  God  would  bless  your  Majesty ; 

And  when  along  the  way 
The  horses  drew  the  stones,  I  gave 

To  one  a  wisp  of  hay  !  " 

"  Ah  !  now  I  see,"  the  King  exclaimed, 

"  Self-glory  was  my  aim  ; 
The  woman  gave  for  love  of  God, 

And  not  for  worldly  fame  ; 
'T  is  my  command  the  tablet  bear 

The  pious  widow's  name  !  " 


THE  WIND   AND  THE   ROSE. 


AN   APOLOGUE. 


A  LITTLE  red  Rose  bloomed  all  alone 
In  a  hedge  by  the  highway  side ; 

And  the  VVind  came  by  with  a  pitying 

moan, 
And  thus  to  the  floweret  cried  : 


"You  are  choked  with  dust  from  the 
sandy  ledge  ; 

Now  see  what  a  friend  can  do  ! 
I  will  pierce  a  hole  in  the  tangled  hedge 

And  let  the  breeze  come  through." 


"  Nay,  let  me  be,  I  am  well  enough  !  " 
Said  the  Rose  in  deep  dismay ; 

But  the  Wind  is  always  rude  and  rough, 
And  of  course  he  had  his  way. 


And  the  breeze  blew  soft  on  the  little 

red  Rose , 

But  now  she  was  sore  afraid, 
For    the    naughty    boys,    her    ancient 

foes. 

Came  through  where    the  gap  was 
made. 


I  see,"  said  the  Wind,  when  he  came 

again, 

And  looked  at  the  trembling  flower, 

1  You  are  out  of  place  ;  it  is  very  plain 

You  are  meant  for  a  lady's  bower." 

VI. 

'  Nay,  let  me  be  !  "  said  the  shuddering 

Rose ; 
"No  sorrow  I  ever  had  known 


Till  you  came  here  to  break  my  repose, 
Now,  please  to  let  me  alone  !  " 


But  the  will  of  the  Wind  is  strong  as 

death, 

And  little  he  recked  her  cries  ; 
He   plucked    her  up  with    his   mighty 

breath, 
And  away  to  the  town  he  fliea. 

VIII. 

Oh,  all  too  rough  was  the  windy  ride 
For  a  Rose  so  weak  and  small  ; 

And  soon  her  leaves  on  every  side 
Began  to  scatter  and  fall. 


"  Now,  what  is  this  ?  "  said  the  wonder- 
ing Wind, 

As  the  Hose  in  fragments  fell ; 
"  This  paltry  stem  is  all  I  find,  — 

I  am  sure  I  meant  it  well !  " 


"  It  means  just  this  :  that  a    meddling 
friend,"     . 

Said  the  dying  stalk,  "is  sure 
To  mar  the  matter  he  aimed  10  mend, 

And  kill  where  he  meant  to  cure  !  " 


THE   BEACON-LIGHT. 


A  GERMAN    LEGEND. 


'  Go  seaward,  son,  and  bear  a  light!" 
Up  spoke  the  sailor's  wife  ; 

1  Thy  father  sails  this  stormy  night 
In'peril  of  his  life  ' 


"  His  ship  tnat  sailed  to  foreign  lands 
This  hour  may  heave  in  sight. 

Oh,  should  it  wreck  upon  the  sands  1 
Go,  son,  and  bear  a  light !  " 


He  lights  a  torch  and  seaward  goes ; 

Nn light  boots  the  deed,  I  doubt. 
The  rain  it  rains,  the  wind  it  blows; 

And  soon  the  light  goes  out. 


The  boy  comes  back  :  "  O  mother  deal 
Bid  me  not  go  again ; 


'  Skalater  and  his  soldiers 

Are  pouring  on  the  plain."     Page  183. 


KLNG  ERIC'S   TRIUMPH. 


183 


No  torch  can  live,  't  is  very  clear, 
Before  the  wind  and  rain  !  " 


"  No  sailor's  blood  hast  thou,  I  trow, 

To  fear  a  stormy  night ; 
Let  rains  descend,  let  tempests  blow, 

Go,  son,  and  bear  a  light !  " 


Once   more  he  lights   the    torch,   and 
goes 

Toward  the  foaming  main. 
The  rain  it  rains,  the  wind  it  blows  ; 

Out  goes  the  torch  tigain! 


The  bov  comes  back  :  "  O  mother  dear, 
The  storm  puts  out  the  light  ; 

The  night  is  drear,  and  much  I  fear 
The  woman  dressed  in  white  !  " 


"  No  sailor's  blood  hast  thou,  I  trow, 

To  tremble  thus  before 
A    mermaid's    face.       Take    heart    of 
grace, 

And  seek  airain  the  shore  ! 


The  boy  comes  back  :  "  O  mother  dear, 

Go  thou  unto  the  strand  ; 
My  father's  voice  I  sure  did  hear 

In  tones  of  stern  command  !  " 


And  now  the  mother  lights  the  torch, 
And,  see!  the  kindling  rays 

Have  caught  the  thatch !  from  roof  to 

porch 
The  hut  is  all  ablaze  ! 


"  What  hast  thou  done  ? "  the  urchin 
cries ; 

"  Oh  piteous  sight  to  see ! 
Cold  is  the  night;  Oh  wretched  plight! 

Nor  house  nor  home  have  we !  " 


"  No  sailor's  blood  hast  thou,  I  wis. 

When  torches  fail  to  burn, 
A  bla/.ing  hovel  — such  as  this  — 

May  serve  as  good  a  turn !" 

XIII. 

Joy  to  tne  sailor !  see !  he  clears 
The  shoals  on  either  hand, 


Thanks  to  the  light !  and  now  he  steers 
safety  to  the  land  ! 


KING  ERIC'S  TRIUMPH. 


FROM    THE    GERMAN   OF    8EIDL- 


AT  Upsala's  high  altar, 
The  tallest  in  the  land, 

And  bright  with  blitzing  candles, 
See  royal  Eric  stand. 

And  thus  he  speaks  to  Heaven, 
With  lifted  voice  and  hand : 


"  Great  God  !  in  Thy  protection 
We  ever  safely  dwell; 

Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 
Hath  wisely  done  and  well. 

And  hark  !  the  lofty  iinthem 
.     The  choir  and  organ  swell. 


Now  while  the  dome  is  sounding 
With  this  triumphant  strain, 

In  comes  a  panting  courier, 

"  O  King  !  the  Dane!  the  Dane! 

SKA  LATER  and  his  soldiers 
Are  pouring  on  the  plain!  " 


But  as  on  ears  unheeding 
The  startling  message  fell ; 

King  Eric  still  is  chanting, 
While  choir  and  organ  swell, 

"  Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 
Hath  wisely  done  and  well ! " 


In  bursts  another  courier, 
Hot  messenger  of  Fate,  — 

"The  Dane!  the  Dane  approaches! 
O  King,  no  longer  wait ! 

Fly  !  seek  some  surer  refuge; 
The  Dane  is  at  the  gate  ! " 


What  though  a  hundred  voices 
The  tale  of  terror  tell  ? 

King  Eric  still  is  chanting, 
While  choir  and  orgnn  swell, 

"  Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 
Hath  wisely  done  and  well  J " 


184 


THE  BRAHMIN'S  AIR-CASTLE. 


VII. 

In  comes  another  courier, 
But  ere  his  voice  he  found 

To  tell  his  tale  of  horror, 
He  feels  a  mortal  wound ; 

Beneatli  a  Danish  sabre, 
His  head  is  on  the  ground, 

VIII. 

Then  rose  a  fearful  clamor, 
That  drowned  the  Danish  drums  ; 

"  With  seven  hundred  soldiers, 
The  fiend,  SKALATKR,  comes! 

Where  now  are  king  and  country, 
Our  altars  aud  our  homes  1 " 


T  was  then  the  pious  monarch 

(As  holy  books  declare) 
Took  up  the  golden  crucifix, 

And  waved  it  in  the  air, 
And  called  upon  the  God  of  Hosts 

In  agonizing  prayer. 

x. 

And  from  the  seven  sacred  wounds 
(One  for  each  bleeding  gash 

That  in  his  death  the  Saviour  bore) 
Came  forth  a  blinding  flash  ; 

In  splendor  full  a  hundred-fold, 
The  heathen  to  abash. 


Whereat  seven  hundred  Danish  men 

In  humble  worship  fell ; 
While  Eric  and  hi*  people  all 

The  solemn  .-inthem  swell, 
"  Who  makes  the  Lord  hia  refuge 

Hath  wiselv  done  and  well !  " 


THE  BRAHMIN'S  AIR-CASTLE. 

A    HINDOO   FABLE. 

A  BRAHMIN,   haughty,    indolent,    and 

poor. 

Entered,  one  day,  a  potter's  open  door, 
And,  lying  lazily  upon  the  ground 
Among    the    earthen-ware    that    stood 

n round 

In  stately  pyramids,  at  length  began 
I'o  think  aloud  ;  and  thus  his  fancies 

ran: 


"  With    these   small    coins  within    my 

pocket,  I 
Some  pieces  of   this  useful   ware  will 

Which,   at    a   profit,   I  will  sell,   and 

then 
Will  purchase  more  ;  and,  turning  this 

again 
In  the   same   fashion,  I  will  buy  and 

sell 
Until  my  growing  trade  will  thrive  so 

well 

That  I  shall  soon  be  rich ;  so  rich,  in- 
deed, 

That  I  can  buy  whatever  I  may  need 
For  use  or  luxury.     And  first  of  all 
I  '11  build  a  mansion,  very  grand  and 

tall; 
And  then,  of  course,  as  suits  a  man  of 

taste, 
I  '11  have  four  wives,  all  beautiful  and 

chaste. 

But  one  in  beaut v  will  excel  the  rest, 
And  her,  'tis  certain,  I  shall  love  the 

best; 

Whereat  the  others  (I  foresee  it)  will 
Be  jealous,  aud  behave  extremely  ill ; 
Whereat,  as  they  deserve,  I  shall  be 

quick 
To  beat  the  vixens  well  with  this  good 

stick." 

And  in  his  reverie  the  fellow  struck 
Among  the  pots  and  pans,  (woe  worth 

the  Inck!) 
With  so  much  force  they  fell,  and  all 

around 
His  foolish  head  the  pieces  strewed  the 

ground 
So  fell   the   Brahmin's   castle    in    the 

air; 
And,  further  still,  to  make  the  matter 

square, 

And  mend  the  damage  done  that  luck- 
less day, 
With  all  he  had  the  potter  made  him 

p«y- 

L'ENVOI. 

This  clever  Hindoo  fable,  which  (I  'm 

told 
By    grave    savans)   is    many   centuries 

old, 

Bears  its  own  moral,  plain  as  any  print; 
And  furnishes,  besides,  a  lively  hint 
Whence  came  that  very  charming  mod 

ern  tale, 
"  The  Country  Maiden  and  her  Milking 

Pail!" 


HOW  IT  CHANCED. 


REASON  AND  VANITY. 


AN    APOLOGUE. 

"  APPEAL  to  Reason  ! "  writes  a  sage 
Whose  book,  on  many  a  glowing  page, 
Would  teach  the  reader  to  control 
The  workings  of  the  human  soul. 
The  plan,  no  doubt,  is  often  wise, 
But,  should  it  fail,  let  me  advise 
('T  is  safe  to  try  it !)  an  appeal 
The  hardest  heart  is  sure  to  feel ; 
When  Reason  turns  away  her  ear, 
Who  knows  hut  Vanity  liiav  hear? 

As  Chloe  stood,  one  summer's  day, — 
Young,    giddy,    handsome,    vain,    and 

£='7.  — 

Before  her  mirror,  and  essayed 
Her  native  charms  by  art  to  aid, 
A  vagrant  bee  came  buzzing  round, 
And  Chloe,  frightened  at  the  sound, 
Cried,  "  Mary,  help!     Go,  Lizzie,  fetch 
A  broom  and  kill  the  little  wretch  !" 
Too  late  !  despite  the  bustling  maids, 
The  wanton  imp  at  once  invades 
Poor  Ohloe's  lip,  —  the  saucy  thing  ! 
And  fixes  there  hi-  ugly  sting. 
The  culprit  caught,  the  maids  prepare 
To  kill  the  monster  then  and  there ; 
When,  trembling  for  hi<  life,  the  Bee 
Makes  this  extenuatinir  plea  : 

"  Forgive  !     0  beauteous  queen,  for- 
give 

My  sad  mistake ;  for,  as  I  live, 
Your     mouth    (I'm    sorry,    Goodness 

knows  !} 

I  surely  took  it  for  a  rose  !  " 
"  Poor  insect!  "  Chine  sighed,  "  I  vow 
'Twere  *•«•//  hard  to  kill  him  now, 
No  harm  the  little  fellow  meant, 
And  rhen  he  sei-ins  no  penitent ; 
Besides    \\\<-  pain  was  verv  small, 
I  scarcely  feel  it  now  at  all !  " 


WHO  SHALL  SHUT  THE  DOOR? 

FROM    THE    GERMAN    OF    GOETHE. 

To  MORROW  is  St.  Martin's  day, 

And  Goody,  loving  elf, 
Has  baked  some  puddings  for  her  man, 

And  put  them  on  the  shelf. 

Now  both  are  lyinir  snug  in  bed, 
And  while  the  west-winds  roar 


Old  Gaffer  unto  Goody  says, 
"  Go,  shut  that  slamming  door!" 

"  I  wish  to  rest,"  the  dame  replies, 
"  Till  morning's  light  appears  ; 

For  aught  I  care,  that  crazy  door 
May  slam  a  hundred  years  !  " 

With  this  the  loving  pair  agreed 
(Since  neither  of  them  stirred) 

That  he,  or  she,  should  bolt  the  door 
Who  first  should  speak  a  word  ! 

Two  vagabonds,  at  midnight,  found 

The  door  was  off  the  latch, 
And  not  a  single  sight  or  sound 

Their  eyes  or  ears  could  catch. 

They  entered  in,  nnd  spoke  aloud, 
But  no  one  answered.     Why  ? 

The  bargain  stopped  the  only  mouth* 
That  could  have  made  reply ! 

The  puddings  soon  were  eaten  up, 

As  Goody  plainly  heard, 
And  cursed  the  robbers  in  her  heart, 

But  uttered  not  a  word. 

And  soon  one  vagabond  exclaims, 

"  I'd  like  a  sip  of  gin  ; 
This  cupboard  smells  extremely  nice, 

I  '11  poke  about  within. 

"  A  flask  of  schnapps,  I  'm  very  sure^. 

Is  at  my  elbow  here ; 
A  hearty  swig,  to  thirsty  souls* 

Is  mighty  pleasant  cheer!  " 

Up  sprang  old  Gaffer  in  a  triee : 
"Hein!  what  is  that  yon  say? 

The     man    who    steals    my     Holland 

schnapps 
Shall  dearly  rue  the  day  !  " 

Off  go  the  rogues,  and  Goody  cries, 

With  something  like  a  roar, 
"  Old  Gaffer,  you  have  spoken  first ! 

Now  go  and  bolt  the  door '  " 


HOW  IT  CHANCED. 

AN   ORIENTAL    APOLOGUE. 


DAME  NATURE,  when    her  work  was 

done, 
And  she  had  rested  from,  creation. 


186 


THE   THREE  MASKS. 


Called  up  her  creatures,  one  by  one, 
To  fix  for  each  his  life's  duration. 


The   ass  came  first,   but   drooped    his 
ears 

On  learning  that  the  dame  intended 
That  ho  should  bear  for  thirty  years 

His  pauniers  ere  his  labor  ended. 

in. 
So  Natnre,  like  a  gentle  queen 

(The  story  goes),  at  once  relented, 
And  changed  the  thirty  to  eighteen, 
Wherewith    the    ass   was   well   con- 
tented. 


The  dog  »me  next,  but  plainly  said 
So  long  a  life  could  be  but  hate-ful ; 

So  Nature  <:ave  him  twelve  instead. 
Whereat  the  dog  was  duly  grateful. 


Next  came  the  ape  ;  but  Nature  when 
He    grumbled,    like    the    dog    and 

donkey, 
Instead  of  thirty  gave  him  ten, 

Which   quite    appeased    the  angry 
moukey. 


At  last  came  man  ;  how  brief  appears 
The  term  assigned,  for  work  or  pleas- 
ure! 

"  Alas  !  "  he  cried,  "  hut  thirty  years  ? 
O   Nature,   lengthen    out  the   meas- 
ure ! " 

VII. 

"  Well  then,  I  give  thee  eighteen  more 
(The  ass's   years) ;    art    thou   con- 
tented ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  beggar,  "  I  implore 
A  longer  term."     The  dame  con- 
sented. 

VIII. 

"I  add  the  dog's  twelve  years  beside." 
"  T  is  not  enough  !  "     "  For  thy  per- 
sistence, 

I  add  ten  more,"  the  dame  replied, 
"  The  period  of  the  ape's  existence." 


And  thus  of  man's  threescore  and  ten, 
The  thirty  years  at  the  beginning 


Are  his  of  ri«rht,  and  only  then 

He  wins  whate'er  is  worth  the  winning 


Then  come  the  ass's  eighteen  rears, 
A  weary  space  of  toil  and  trouble, 

Beset  with  crosses,  cares,  and  fears, 
When  joys   grow   less,   aud   sorrows 
double. 


The  dog's  twelve  years  come  on,  at 
length, 

When  man,  the  jest  of  every  scorner, 
Bereft  of  manhood's  pride  and  strength, 

Sits  growling,  toothless,  in  a  corner. 


At  last,  the  destined  term  to  fill, 

The  ape's   ten  years  come   lagging 
after, 

And  man,  a  chattering  imbecile, 
Is  but  a  theme  for  childish  laughter. 


THE   THREE  MASKS. 

I  ROM    THE     JKKMAX    OF    HARING. 


UPON  the  monarch's  brow  no  shade  is 

shown ; 
The    royal    purple    hides  the  bloody 

throne ; 
He  calls  his  vassals  all,  — the  man  of 

sin,  — 
"  Bring  forth  the  maskers !  let  the  dance 

begin  !  " 


The  music  sounds,  and  everv  face  is 
glad, — 

All  save  the  King's,  and  that  is  some- 
thing sad  ; 

And,  lo !  three  snow-white  masks  are 
passing  now, 

And  dark  clouds  gather  on  the  mon- 
arch's brow. 


In  robes  of  red  the  maskers  now  are 

seen, 
And   black  as    midnight   is   the   royal 

mien. 

In  sable  mantles  next  the  three  appear, 
Anil  the  king's  face  is  white  withsuddei 

fear. 


THE  GHOST  IN  ARMOR. 


187 


IV. 

And  now  before  the  throne,  with   deep 

dismay, 
He  sees  three  griuning  skulls  in  grim 

array ; 
Whereat   he  falls   in   terror  from   his 

throne ! 
The  masks  have  fled,  and  left  him  there 

alone. 


He  calls  his  vassals :  "  Let  each  villain 
bare 

His  vis!i<re !  "  No,  no  juggling  rogue  is 
there ! 

He  calls  his  page:  "Now,  fellow,  get 
thee  gone, 

And  bring  the  Soothsayer  ere  to  mor- 
row's dawn !  " 


"  Go  tell  the  King,"  the  Wise  Man  made 

reply, 
"  He  sends  too  late.     God  answers  him, 

not  I! 
When   mortals  look  on  visions  such  as 

this, 
Their  own  hearts  tell  them  what   the 

meaning  i.s. 


"  The  first  skull,"  quoth  the  reverend 

SHSC,  ''  declares 
How  rank  corruption  rules  the  king's 

affairs ; 
The  second  says,  '  Since  corpses  prop  thy 

throne, 
Mankind  shall  gaze  with  horror  on  thine 

own ! ' 

VIII. 

"  The   third  proclaims   that   whosoe'er 

has  seen 

The  other  twain,  before  the  morrow  e'en 
Shall  be  the  like  himself!     Beware,  I 

say, 
Beware  the  sable  maskers  in  the  play  !  " 


Swift  flies,  at  morn,  the  panting  page  to 

bring 
The   fearful   message    to   the   waiting 

king; 
While  lies  the  monarch  in  his  robes  of 

red, 
On  a  black   bier;  for  lo !   the    king   is 

dead ! 


THE  GHOST  IN  ARMOR. 

A    LEGEND   OF    ST.    MICHAEL'S    EVE. 
PART   FIRST. 

SIR  WALTER  DE  GUYON  is  surly  and 

sad, 

There  's  trouble  a-brewing,  I  think;- 
The  Steward  is  certain  Sir  Walter  is 

mad, 
And  the  Butler  declares,  "  He  is  took 

very  bad, — 
This  morning  he  doubled  his  drink ! " 

And  why  is  he  ranting  and  raving,  I 

pray, 

And  calling  his  daughter  such  names  ? 
He  stands  by  the  Green  in  tnk  sturdiest 

way;" 

And  Alice  has  mounted  the  Orange  to- 
day, 
And  laughed  at  the  runaway  James  I 

And  then   Sir   Walter  has    heard   be- 

side, 

From  one  of  his  vigilant  spies, 
How  Alice  his  daughter,  his  darling  and 

pride, 
With  young  De  Ruyter,  last  evening, 

"was  spied,  — 

You  may  guess  at  the  knight's  sur- 
prise ! 

Beneath  the  casement  the  maiden  was 

seen, 

With  this  gay  gallant  at  her  feet; 
Holding  her  hand  his  own  between, 
And  calling  her  "  love,"  and  "  life," 

and  "  queen," 
With  kisses  many  and  sweet ! 

De  Ruyter,  —  a  captain  of  William'* 

band ; 

And  counted  a  worthy  scion 
Of  an  ancient  house  in  the  Dutchman's 

land; 

But  what  is  he  to  offer  his  hand 
To  one  of  the  race  De  Guyon  ? 

De    Ruyter, — "a    squire    of    low    de- 
gree," 

And  an  anti-Jacobite  war  man  ; 
And  what  is  he,  whoever  he  be, 
To  mutch  his  de  with  the  mighty  De 
That  was  known  before  "  the  Nor- 
man  "  ? 


188 


THE   GHOST  IN  ARMOR. 


"  The  saucy  varlet  !  "  Sir  Walter  said  : 
"  The  fellow  deserves  to  swing  ; 

Before  my  castle  to  show  hi<  head  ! 

I  '11  serve  the  dog  as  I  'd  like  in>tead 
To  serve  his  villainous  king  !  " 

Iir  vain  the  maiden  bemoans  his  fate  ; 

Already  the  fierce  Sir  Walter 
Has  set  his  guards  at  every  pate. 
He  is  fain  to  fly,  hut  all  too  late  ; 

He  is  doomed  to  feel  the  halter. 

There  's  a  dismal  cell,   a  dungeon,  in 
.  sooth, 

Hard  by  flu-  banqueting-ro»m 
(Sir  Walter  de  Gimm  has  little  ruth), 
And  there,  alas!  the  venturous  youth, 

De  RuytiT,  is  waiting  his  doom. 


alter  de  Gnyoti  is  rather  elate 
At  the  capital  job  he  has  done  ; 
So  he  summons  his  friends,  the  small 

and  the  great, 

To  come  and  assist  at  an  elegant./e/e, 
Devoted  to  feasting  aud  fun. 


PART   SECOND. 

They    are    eating    and    drinking    with 
{•lee, 

The  guests  at  tin's  notable  feast ; 
LA>  ds,  unities  of  every  degree, 
All  merry  as  merry  can  he, 

With  fifty  retainers  at  least. 

Ill  the  midst  of  the  revelrv  rose 
Sir  Walter  de  Giiyou,  to  say, 
"  You  all  are  aware.  I  suppose, 
'T  is   St.     Michaels  evening,"  —  but 

shows 
Some  symptoms  of  fainting  away. 

A  bottle  of  Burgundy  stood 

liv  chance  in  the  orator's  reach, 
Which  drinking  as  well  as  he  could, 
Aad  swearing  the  tipple  was  good. 
Sir  Walter  went  on  with  his  speech. 

"  'T  was  this  verv  niirhr,  as  you  know, 
My  ances'or.  once  on  a  time, 

As  sundry  old  chronicles  show 

('T  was  ages  and  a-_r<'s  ago), 
Committed  a  horrible  crime. 

"A  black-armored  knight,  it  is  told, 
Who  slept  iu  a  neighboring  room, 


Was  murdered  ('t  was  thought  for  his 

gold),T 

The  room  which  now  happens  to  hold 
The  Dutchman  awaiting  his  doom. 

"  My  ancestor  noised  it  about, 
The  minions  of  Justice  to  blind, 

That  the  stranger  arose  and  went  out  ; 

But  he  never  could  settle  the  doubt 
Why    the    man   left    his  armor   be 
"hind. 

"  Belike  you  have  heard  it  before, — 

The  credulous  peasants  believe 
His  ghost,  in  the  armor  be  wore, 
Comes  stalking  abroad.  «s  of  yore, 
On  every  St.  Michael  his  Eve." 

"What    think    you?"    he    laughingly 

said, 

"  Perhaps  we  may  s  e  him  to  night ; 
As  often  in  books  we  have  read  "  — 
Ah  !  sees  he  the  ghost  of  the  dead  ? 
Whv     blanches     Sir     Walter     with 
"fright? 

What  meaneth  that  terrible  din. 

Like  the  sound  of  a  bursting  door? 
See!  black  as  the  angel  of  sin, 
The  Gho-t  in  the  Armor  comes  in, 
And  marches  across  the  flour ! 

Aghast  at  the  horrible  sioht. 

Down,  down  th<y  tumble,  and  lay 
Spent  with  terror  and  fright, 
Through  all  that  terrible  night, 

Quite  into  the  following  day  ! 

Now  where  is  De  Ruyter,  I  pray, 

And    Alice?    (she's   vanished    from 
sight!) 

There  's  a  letter  from  London  to  say 

The  lovers  had  ridden  away 

On  a  saddle  and  pillion  that  night. 

His  manner  of  leaving,  of  course. 

His  own  reprobation  had  earned; 
He  owned  he  was  full  of  remorse 
Concerning  the  armor  and  horse, 
But  boih  should  be  quickly  returned 

Aud  with  her  good  father's  consent, 
That    is,    should    he    kindly    invite 
her, 

It  was  Alice's  settled  intent 

To  make  him  a  visit  in  Lent, 
Along  with  her  own  De  Ruyter  ! 


THE  KING  AND   THE  PEASANT. 


189 


THE  KING  AND  THE  PEASANT. 

A    SICILIAN    TALE. 

THERE   lived   a    man    who,    from   his 

youth, 

Was  known  to  all  as  "  Peasant  Truth," 
Because  'twas  said  he  'd  sooner  die 
Than  tell  or  hint  the  smallest  lie. 
Now,  when  it  happened  that  the  King 
Had    heard,    at    last,    this    wondrous 

thing, 

He  bade  the  peasant  come  and  keep 
The  royal  flock  of  goats  and  sheep 
(To  wit,  —  one  goat,  a  little  lamb 
A  fine  bell-wether,  and  a  ram). 
And  once  a  week  he  went  to  court 
To  see  the  King,  and  make  report 
How  fared  the  flock,  and  truly  tell 
If  each  were  doing  ill  or  well; 
Whereat  the  King  was  well  content, 
And  home  the  happy  peasant  went. 
At  last,  a  wicked  courtier  —  struck 
With  envy  at  his  neighbor's  luck  — 
E>sayed  to  put  him  in  disgrace, 
And  gain  himself  the  peasant's  place. 
"  Think  you,  good  Sire,  in  very  sooth, 
He  never  lies,  —  this  Peasant  Truth  ? 
He  '11  He  next  Saturday,"  he  said, 
"  Or,  for  a  forfeit,  take  my  head  !  " 
"  So  be  it !  and  I  '11  lose  my  own," 
The  King  replied,  "  if  it  be  shown, 
With  all  the  arts  that  you  may  try, 
That  Peasant  Truth  can  tell  a  lie  !  " 
And  now  the  wicked  courtier  fain 
Some  trick  would  try  his  end  to  gain. 
Hut  still  lie  failed  to  find  a  plan 
To  catch  at  fault  the  honest  man, 
Until  at  last,  in  sheer  despair, 
lie  tokl  his  wife  (a  ladv  fair 
As  one  in  all  the  world  could  find, 
And  cunning,  like  all  womankind) 
About  the  wager  he  had  made, 
And  all  the  case  before  her  laid. 
"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  the  woman  said, 
Tossing  in  scorn  her  handsome  head; 
"  Leave  all  to  me,  and  never  doubt 
That  what  you  wish  I  11  bring  about  I  " 
Next  day  the  crafty  dame  was  seen, 
Appareled  like,  a  very  queen, 
Ami  on  her  brow  a  diamond  star, 
That  like  a  meteor  blazed  afar, 
Approaching  where  the  peasant  stood 
Among  his  flock.   "  Now,  by  the  Rood !  " 
He  cried,  amazed,  "  but  she  is  fair 
And  beautiful  beyond  compare!" 
Then,  bowing  to  the  earth,  quoth  he. 


say 


"  What  may  your  Highness  want  wit* 

me  ! 

Whate'cr  you  ask,  I  swear  to  grant  !  " 
"  Ah  !  "  sighed  the  lady,  "  much  I  want 
Some  roasted  wether,  e'lse  shall  I 
(Such  is  my  longing!)  surely  die!  " 
"  Alas  !  "  he  said,  "just  this'one  thing 
I  cannot  do.     I  serve  the  King, 
Who  owns  the  wether  that  you  see, 
And  if  I  kill  him,  woe  is  me  !  " 
Alack  the  day  for  Peasant  Truth! 
His  tender  soul  was  moved  to  ruth  ; 
For,  weeping  much,  and  saying  still 
That  she  should  die,  she  had  her  will, 
And.  of  roast  wether  took  her  fill  ! 
"Ah!  "  sighed  the  man  when  she  was 

gone, 

"  Alas  !  the  deed  that  I  have  done  ! 
To  kill  the  sheep  !     What  shall  I  say 
When  I  am  asked,  next  Saturday, 
'  How  fares  the  wether?  '     I  will  tell 
His  Majesty  the  sheep  is  well. 
No,  that  won't  do  !     1  '11  even 
A  thief  has  stolen  him  away. 
No,  that  won't  answer.     I  will  feign 
Some    prowling    wolf    the    sheep    has 

slain. 

No,  that  won't  do  !     Ah  !  how  can  I 
Look  in  his  face  and  tell  a  lie  ?  " 
Now  when  the  peasant  came  to  court 
On  Saturday,  to  make  report, 
As  was  his  wont,  the  King  began 
His  questioning  ;  and  thus  it  ran  : 
"  How  is  my  goat  ?     I  prithee  tell  !  " 
"  The  goat,  your  Majesty,  is  well  !  " 
'  And  how  's  my  ram  ?  "     "  Good  Sire, 

the  ram 
Is    well    and    frisky."      "  How  's    my 

lamb  i  " 

"  He  's  well  and  beautiful,  in  sooth." 
"  And     how  's     my     wether,    Peasant 

Truth  1  " 

Whereat  he  answered,  "  O  my  King, 
I  hate  a  lie  like  —  anything. 
When  on  the  mountain-side  afar 
I  saw  the  bidy  with  the  star, 
My  soul  was  dazzled  with  her  beauty, 
And  I  forgot  my  loyal  duty, 
And  when  she  asked  for  wether's  meat, 
I  killed  the  sheep,  i 
"  Good  !  ' 

won  ! 
This   grievous   wrong   that    you    havo 

done, 

My  truthful  peasant,  I  forgive  ; 
In'health  and  wealth  long  may  yon  live.' 
While  this,  your  enemy,  instead, 
Shall  justly  lose  his  foolish  head." 


sheep,  that  she  might  eat." 
iiid  the  King,  "  my  wager  '• 


190 


THE  KING'S  FAVORITE. 


THE    TRAVELER    AND     HIS 
FRIENDS. 

A   GALLIC    LEGEND. 

A  GENTLEMAN,  about  to  make 
A  trip  at  sen,  was  begged  to  take 
Commissions  for  a  dozen  friends  : 
One  wants  a  watch ;  another  sends 
For  wine,  —  "  a  very  special  cask  ; 
And  —  if  it  'a  not  too  much  to  ask  — 
Some  choice  cigars ;  a  box  will  do  ; 
Or,  while  you  're  at  it,  purchase  two." 
Another  friend  would  like  a  puir 
Of  boots,  —  "  They  'ie  so  much  cheaper 

there  " ; 

A  lady  friend  would  have  him  buy 
Some     laces,  —  "If     they're    not     too 

high  " ; 

Another  wants  a  box  of  gloves, — 
"  French     kids,     you     know,  are     real 

loves ! " 

Thus  one  wants  this ;  another,  that ; 
A  book,  a  bonnet,  or  a  hat ; 
Enough  to  make  the  moody  man 
(So  high  their  "  small  commissions  "  ran 
In  tale  and  bulk)  repent  that  he 
Had  ever  thought  to  cross  the  sea ! 
Moreover,  —  be  it  here  remarked,  — 
Before  the  gentleman  embarked, 
His  friends,  for  fear  he  might  forget 
Their  little  errands,  plainly  set 
Their  wishes  down  in  bl;ick  and  white ; 
A  sensible  proceeding  —  quite  ; 
But,  as  it  happened,  not  a  friend 
<VVith  one  exception)  thought  to  send 
The  ready  money,  and  to  say, 
•"See,  here 's  the  cash   you'll   have   to 

pay." 
The     man     embarks;    sees    Paris, 

Kome, 

And  other  cities  ;  then  comes  home 
Well    pleased  with  much  that  met  his 

eye ; 

But,  having,  somehow,  failed  to  buy 
A  single  tiling  for  anv  friend, 
Except  the  one  who  thought  to  send 
The  wherewithal.     Well,  need  I  say 
That  soon  his  neighbors  came  to  pay 
Their  greetings  at  his  safe  return, 
And  charming  health;  and  (also)  learn 
About  their  little  errands, —  what 
For  each  the  traveler  had  got  1 
*  By  Jove  !  "  lie  said, "  it  makes  me  sad 
To  think  what  wretched  luck  1  had  ! 
For  as  :<-t  sea  I  sat  one  day 
Arranging  in  a  proper  way 


The  papers  you  so  kindly  sent, 
A  gale  arose,  and  off  they  went 
Into  the  ocean  ;  nor  could  I 
Remember  aught  you  bade  me  buy." 
"  But,"  grumbled  one,  "  if  that  were 

so, 

How  comes  it,  sir,  you  chanced  to  know 
What  t/ns  man's  errand  was  ?  for  he 
Has  got  what  he  desired,  we  see." 
"  Faith  !  so  he  has,  —  beyond  a  doubt ; 
And  this  is  how  it  came  about : 
His  memorandum  ch;mced  to  hold 
A  certain  sum  of  solid  gold  ; 
And  thus  the  paper  by  its  weight 
Escaped  the  others'  windy  fate." 


THE  KING'S  FAVORITE. 


AN    ORIENTAL   TALE. 

A  SHEPHERD  who  was  wont  to  keep 
With  so  much  care  his  nock  of  sheep, 
That  not  a  mini  in  all  the  plains 
Could  show  the  like  in  fleecy  gains, 
Was  noticed  by  the  king  ;  who  said, 
"  One  who  so  long  has  wisely  led 
His  woolly  charge  must  surely  be 
A  proper  man  to  oversee 
A  nobler  flock  ;  I  make  thee,  then, 
A  magistrate,  —  to  govern  men  !  " 
"  What,"  mused  the  shepherd,  "  shall  I 

do? 

A  hermit  and  a  wolf  or  two 
My  whole  acquaintance  constitute 
(Except  my  sheep)  of  man  or  brute  ! 
His  reason  bade  the  clown  decide 
Against  the  place ;  not  so  his  pride. 
Ambition's  plea  at  last  prevails, 
And  lo !  the  shepherd  takes  the  scales. 

Soon  as  his  hermit-neighbor  heard 
What  to  the  shepherd  had  occurred, 
His  honest  mind  he  thus  expressed  : 
"  'T  is  surely  but  a  royal  jest, 
To  make  of  thee,  who  never  saw 
A  written  page  of  statute  law, 
Chief  Justice  of  the  realm  !     I  deem 
The  tale  is  false,  or  do  1  dream  ? 
Ah  !  princely  gifts  are  fatal  things  ; 
Beware,  I  sav, —  beware  of  kings !  " 

The  shepherd  listens,  but  the  while 
His  only  answer  is  a  smile, 
As  one  whose  happiness  provokes 
The  envy  of  inferior  folks. 
"  Alas  !  '"'  the  hermit  cried,  "  I  see 
The  fa  hied  wagoner  in  thee, 
Who  lost  his  whip,  and  by  mistake 


•'To  every  clime  his  bending  sails 
Were  wafted  by  propitious  gales."     Page  lt»l. 


THE  MERCHANT. 


191 


Took  up  instead  a  torpid  snake, 
That,  warming  iu  bis  lingers,  stung 
'J'iie  foolish  hand  to  wliich  it  clung, 
A  mortal  l>ite ;  do  thou,  my  friend, 
B.-ware  the  like  unhappy  end  ! '' 
And  soon  indeed  the  favorite  found 
The  hermit's  plain  advice  was  sound. 
Til-1  Judge,  although  he  did  his  best, 
Was  most  unequal  to  the  test ; 
His  judgments,  set  in  leg  d  light, 
Were  quite  as  often  wrong  as  right ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  around  him  rose 
A  crowd  of  envious,  spiteful  foes 
Who,  one  and  all,  contrive  to  I  riiig 
The  blackest  slanders  to  the  King, 
Who  hears,  amazed,  the  story  told 
Of  justice"  daily  bought  and  sold. 
Indeed,  his  enemies  declare, 
"  His  Honor"  takes  the  lion's  share, 
And  with  the  fruit  of  bribes  alone 
Has  built  a  palace  of  his  own. 

The  King,  astounded  at  his  guilt, 
Would  see  the  palace  he  had  built; 
And  finds,  when  all  his  search  is  done, 
A  modest  house  of  wood  an  I  stone. 
He  open-  next  the  fabled  box 
V/here.  fast  beneath  a  dozen  locks, 
Th«  Judge's  famous  jewels  lie  ; 
But  nothing  meets  the  royal  eye 
Kxcept  a  shepherd's  coat  and  cap 
(The  former  rent  in  many  n  ga;>), 
And  — to  reward  his  further  looi  — 
A  shepherd's  rusty  pipe  and  crook. 
"  O  treasure  precious  to  my  eyes  5 " 
The  Jndire  exclaims,  "  from  thee  arise 
No  hate ful  cares,  nor  envious  lies. 
These  I  resume,  and  learn,  though  late, 
Whoe'er  a-pires  to  serve  the  .-tate 
Should  first  consider  well  the  case, 
If  he  is  equal  to  the  place  ; 
And  long  reflect,  before  lie  makes 
That  most  egregious  of  mi-takes,  — 
One's  true  vocation  weaklv  spurned, 
To  serve  a  trade  he  never  learned." 


THE   MERCHANT 

A    FABLE. 

A  MKRCHANT  once,  whom  Fortune  plied 
With  favors  rare  on  every  side, 
Grew  rich  apace;  his  ships  were  safe 
Though  storms  might  rave  and  breakers 

chafe; 

To  every  clime  his  bending  sills 
Were  wafted  by  pro;»itiou- gales; 


While  others,  gooa  and  brave  as  he, 
And  no  less  wise  on  land  or  sea, 
With  varying  fortunes  often  tried 
The  fierce  domain  of  wind  and  tide, 
And  paid,  sometimes,  a  goodly  freight 
In  tribute  to  the  Ocean- Kate. 
No  hidden  reef,  nor  sudden  squall, 
Nor  deadly  calm,  most  feared  of  all, 
Had  e'er  consigned  his  vessels'  store 
To  cor.il  grove  or  rocky  shore. 
And  more  than  this  (so,  it  is  known, 
Fate,    when   she    will,   can   guard   her 

own), 

No  agent  proved  an  arrant  knave, 
No  master  found  a  watery  grave, 
No  trusted  clerk  defaulter  turned, 
No  paituer  stole  what  both  hud  earned, 
Nor  market  of  a  sudden  fell 
Just  when  his  factor  wished  to  sell. 

In  short,  his  wines,  tobaccos,  teas, 
Silks,  satins,  linens,  laces,  cheese, 
His  coffee,  sugar,  raisins,  spice, 
Were  sure  to  bring  the  highest  price : 
And  so  it  was  he  came  to  be 
The  richest  merchant  on  the  sea, 
And  lived  —  there  's  little  need  to  say  — 
In  such  a  princely  sort  of  way 
The  King  himself  could  scarce  afford 
The  gems  that  decked  our  merchant- 
lord. 

A  friendly  neighbor,  much  amazed 
At  all  the  wealth  on  which  he  gazed, 
Said,  "  Tell  me,  now,  how  may  it  be 
That  you  have  come  to  what  we  see  ?  " 
The    merchant,   smilling,  swelled  with 

pride, 

And,  like  a  monarch,  thus  replied  : 
"How  comes    it?  —  plain  enough,   I 

trow ; 
It  comes,  my  friend,  of  knowin'j  how  !  " 

With  growing  riches  now,  indeed, 

The  trader  felt  a  growing  greed, 

And  giddy  with  prosperity, 

Stakes  all"  he  has  again  at  sea. 

But  now  success  no  longer  paid 

The  heedless  risks  the  merchant  made. 

One    bark    was   wrecked    because   hei 

load, 

For  want  of  care,  was  ill  bestowed ; 
Another  (lacking  arms,  they  say) 
To  ruthless  pirates  fell  a  prey  ; 
A  third  came  safe,  at  last,  to" land 
With  goods  no  longer  in  de.nand  ; 
In  brief,  his  ventures  proved  so  bad 
He  soon  was  stript  of  all  he  had, 


192 


THE   TWO    WALLETS. 


And  now  among  his  fellow-men, 
Was  but  a  common  man  again. 

( )nce  more  his  friend  inquiry  made 

Whence  came  disaster  to  his  trade. 

'•  What  brought  you  to  this  dismal 
pass?" 

"  T  was  fortune,"  said  the  man, 
"alas!" 

"  Indeed  ?  Well,  well,"  the  friend  re- 
plies, 

'•  Although  her  gold  the  Dame  denies, 

S!>e  yet  may  teach  you  to  be  wise  !  " 

So  goes  the  world  !  each  thankless  elf, 
Whate'er  may  be  his  worldly  state, 

Imputes  his  blessings  to  himself, 
Aiid  lays  his  bluuders  all  to  Fate. 


THE  FORCE  OF  EXAMPLE. 


A  MOTHER  lobster,  with  her  daughter 
Conversing  near  their  native  water, 
And  close!  v  watching,  as  she  talked, 
The  style  i'n  which  the  latter  walked, 
Rebuked  her  for  her  awkward  way 
Of  locomotion  :  "  Tell  me,  pray," 
The  matron  scolded,  "  why  instead 
Of  Ixickwai'd,  you  don't  go  ahead  ? 
Such    awkwardness!      Of    course   you 

know 

'T  is  not  the  proper  way  to  go ; 
Sure,  folks  of  sense  you'  thus  will  shock, 
And  make  yourself  a  laughing-stock  !  " 
"  What !  "  "said  the  child,  "  do  you  sup- 
pose 

I  don't  know  how  my  mother  goes  ? 
Shall  I  adopt  the  plan  you  say, 
While  all  the  rest  go  t?  other  way  ? 
I  really  have  n't  got  the  face 
To  change  the  custom  of  my  race; 
It  need  not  put  you  in  a  passion, 
I  merely  mean  to  be  in  fashion  ; 
And,    having    learned    the   way   from 

you, 
I  '11  walk  —  as  other  lobsters  do." 


MORAL. 

To  fix  a  good  or  evil  coarse, 
Example  is  of  potent  force  ; 
And  they  who  wish  the  young  to  teach 
Must  even  practice  what  they  preach. 


THE  SHERIFF  OF  SAUMUB, 

A    LEGEND. 

ONCE,   when   the    King  was    traveling 

through 

His  realm,  as  kings  were  wont  to  do 
In  ancient  times  when  royalty 
Was  deemed  a  goodly  sight  to  see, 
It  chanced  the  Sheriff  of  Satnnui; 
A  city  in  the  royal  tour, 
Was  chosen  by  the  magistrates 
To  meet  the  monarch  at  the  yates, 
And  in  a  handsome  speech  declare 
How  glad  and  proud  the  people  were 
To  see  his  Majesty ;  and  say 
Such  compliments  as  subjects  pay, 
As  being  but  the  proper  thing, 
On  such  occasions,  to  the  King. 
"  Sire,"  said  the  Sheriff  (so  the  speech 
Began,  of  course),  "  Sire,  we  beseech 
Your  gracious  Majesty  to  hear 
The  humble  words  of  he  irtv  cheer 
With    which,    great  Sire,    with   which, 

through  me, 

The  people  greet  your  Majesty. 
We  are  so  glad  to  see  you.  Sire, 
That — that  "  —  An'd  here  the  speech 

huug  fire. 

"  So  glad  —  the  people  of  our  town  — 
That  —  that  "  —    And  here  the  man 

broke  down. 

Whereat  a  courtier  said.  "I  'm  sure 
These  worthy  people  of  S'lumur 
Are  glad,  my  liege,  to  see  you  here  ; 
Thai  seems  to  me  extremely  clear ; 
And  don't   his   Honor's  speech  confess 

it? 
So  glad,  indeed,  they  can't  express  it." 


THE  TWO  WALLETS. 

WHY  humankind  should  ever  be 
So  k«-en  their  neighbors'  faults  to  see, 
While  (wonderful  to  tell !)  their  own 
Are  to  themselves  almost  unknown, 
This  ancient  fable  clearly  shows  : 
Once  on  a  time,  the  storv  goi-s. 
Great  Jove,  the  wise  Olympian  King, 
Proclaimed  to  each  created  thing, 
That  he  would  hold  a  special  court 
Where  all   might  come  and  make  re- 
port 

Of  aujrht  that  each  might  deem  it  wise 
To  change  iu  feature,  form,  or  size. 


THE   GREAT  CRAB. 


193 


He  promi-ed  quickly  to  redress 
All  imperfections,  large  or  less; 
Whatever  error  or  defect 
Each  in  his  person  might  detect. 
First  came  the  Monkey.    Naught  had  he 
Of  special  fault  —  that  he  could  see.' 
A  purngou  of  wit  and  grace, 
Who  had  —  almost  — a  human  face  ! 
One  seeks  a  finer  form  in  vain. 
Pray,  why  should  such  as  he  complain  1 
"  But  look  at  Bruin  !  "  cried  the  ape ; 
"  Wits  ever  such  a  clumsy  shape  ? 
And  then,  for  life,  condemned  to  wear 
That  ugly  suit  of  shaggy  hair  !  " 
"  Nay,"  said  the  bear,  "  I  find  mv  form 
As  I  could  wish.     My  fur  is  warm, 
And  looks,  I  think,  extremelv  fine, 
Good  Master  Ape,  compared  with  thine. 
But  see  the  Elephant !  his  size 
Is  much  too  huge ;  and  I  advise 
(So  ludicrous  the  beast  appears) 
To  stretch  his  tail,  and  crop  his  ears!  " 
"  Nay,''  quoth  the  Klephaut,  who  deems 
His  figure  clear  of  all  extremes, 
"  I  can't  complain,  —  I  'm   quite   con- 
tent ! " 

But  then  h;:  marveled  what  it  meant 
The  Whule  should  be  so  huge  and  fat ! 
The  Ant  was  sorry  for  the  Gnat ! 
The  Gnat  reproached  the  tiny  r'/ea  ! 
How  could  one  live  so  small  ns  she  ? 
Thus  all  the  animals,  in  turn, 
The  faults  of  others  could  discern  ; 
But  not  a  creature,  large  or  small, 
His  o\vn  defects  could  see  at  all. 


So  fares  it  with  the  human  race. 

Who,  thanks  to  Heaven's  especial  grace, 

A  double  wallet  always  wear. 

All  sorts  of  sins  and  crimes  to  bear. 

Within  the  pouch  that  hangs  before 

The  fault*  of  other  folks  are  thrown  ; 
While,  safely  out  of  siglit,  we  store 

The  hinder  pocket  with  our  owa 


THE  GREAT  CRAB. 

A   GERMAN    LEGEND. 


NEAR  Lake  Mohrin    *t  is  said,  by  day 

and  night, 
The  folks   all   tremble  with  unceasing 

fright 

13 


Lest  the  Great  Crab,  we  all  have  heard 

about, 
Bv  some  device  should  manage  to  get 

out! 
He  's  fastened  down  below,  you  see, 

And  in  the  strongest  way"; 
For,  should  he  happen  to  get  free, 
The  deuce  would  be  to  pay  ! 


An  ugly  monster  of  prodigious  strength, 
A  mile  in  breadth  and  twenty  miles  in 

length, 
He   keeps  the   water   foaming  in   the 

lake, 
And,   once  on   land,   what  trouble   he 

would  make ! 
For  with  his  backward  motion  (so 

An  ancient  seer  declares) 
All   other  things   would   backward 

g°' 

Throughout  the  world's  affairs. 


The  Burgomaster — mightiest  of  men  — 
Would  turn,  that  day,  a  sucking  child 

again ; 
The   Judge    and    Parson,   changed   to 

little  boys, 
Would  quit  their  learned  books  for  tiny 

toys ; 
And  so   with    matrons,    maids,   and 

men, 

All  things  would  be  reversed ; 
And  everything  go  back  again 
To  what  it  was  at  first. 


Sttdl    mischief   to   the   people!  While 

they  eat, 
Back  to  the  plate  will  go  the  smoking 

meat, 
And  thence  to  pot !    The  bread  will  turn 

again 
To  flour;   flour  go  back  once  more  to 

grain 
Back  to  the  flax  (O  sight  of  shame  !) 

Will  go  the  linen  shirt ; 
The  flax  return  to  whence  it  came, 
A  linseed  in  the  dirt 


The  timber  in  the  house  at  once  will 

move 

As  trees  again  back  to  the  primal  grove  ; 
The  hens    will  turn  to  chickens,  in   a 

crack, 
The  chicks  into  the  eggs  again  go  back. 


194 


LOVE   OMNIPOTENT. 


And  these  the  Great  Crab  with   his 
(ail, 

At  one  prodigious  crash, 
Will  knock,  as  with  a  threshing-flail, 

To  everlasting  smash ! 


Now  Heaven  defend  us  from  so  dire  a 

fate! 

The  world,  I  think,  is  doing  well  of  late ; 
And  for  the  Crab,  let  all  good  i>eople 

pray 

That  in  his  lake  he  evermore  may  stay  ! 
Else  even  this  poor  song  (alack ! 

How  very  sad  to  think  !) 
With  all  the  rest  must  needs  go  back, 
And  be  a  drop  of  ink  ! 


LOVE  AND  FOLLY. 


AN    ALLEGORY. 

CUPID,  we  know,  is  pninted  blind  ; 
The  reason  it  were  hard  to  find, 
Unless,  indeed,  we  may  suppose 
The  fable  of  Lafontaiiie  shows, 
Beyond  a  reasonable  doubt, 
How  the  misfortune  came  about. 

'T  is  said  that  on  a  certain  day, 
As  Love  and  Folly  were  at  play, 
They  fell  into  a  warm  debate 
Upon  a  point  of  little  weight. 
Until,  so  high  the  quarrel  rose, 
Fiom  angry  words  th'-y  came  to  blows. 
L'»\e,  little  used  to  warlike  arts 
(Save  with  his  famous  bow  and  darts), 
Although  he  fought  with  all  his  might, 
Was  qnicklv  vanquished  in  the  fight ; 
Miss  Folly  dealt  him  such  a  slap 
Across  the  face,  the  little  chap 
Fell  in  a  swoon,  and  woke  to  find 
He  could  not  see  !  —  the  boy  was  blind ! 

Now  wheu  his  doting  mother  came 
To  know  the  case,  the  angry  dame 
Behaved  a<  any  mother  might 
Whose  only  son  had  lost  his  si^ht. 
Whate'iT  hid  caused  the  dreadful  deed, 
Malicious  aim,  or  want  of  heed, 
Such    wrath    in     heaven    was    seldom 

seen 

As  Venus  showed  in  speech  and  mien. 
She  stunned  Olympus  with  her  cries 
For  vengeance.     "  What !    put  out  his 

eyes ! 

My  pm'ious  Cupid  !     Let  the  jade 
Straight  down  to  Orcus  be  conveyed  ! 


•  That  justice  mav  be  dulv  done 
j  On  her  who  maimed  my  darling  son, 
]  And  left  the  lad,  bereaved  of  sight, 
i  To  grope  in  everlasting  night!" 

While    Venus    thus    for    vengeance 

prayed 

j  On  Folly, —  thoughtless,  hapless  maid,— 
Great  Jove  convenes  a  special  court 
To  hear  the  case  and  make  report. 
In  solemn  council  long  they  sit 
To  judge  what  penalty  is  fit 
The  crime  to  answer;  and,  beside 
Some  resiitution  to  provide 
(If  aught,  indeed,  they  can  devise) 
For  Master  Cupid's  ruined  eyes. 

And  thus,  at  last,  it  WHS  decreed, 
That  Folly,  for  her  wicked  deed, 
In  part  the  damage  should  restore 
By  leading  Cupid  evermore  ! 


L  ENVOI. 

And  so  it  comes  that  still  we  see 
The  maid  where'er  the  boy  mav  be; 
Love  still  is  blind  ;  and  Folly  still 
Directs  the  urchin  where  she  will. 


LOVE  OMNIPOTENT. 

A    DIALOGUE    OF   THE    GOD8. 

ACT  I.    SCENE:  Hades. 

PLUTO,  MERCURY. 

PLUTO.     My  Furies  all   are  getting 
old,  and  fill 

Their  office,  I  protest,  extremely  ill  ; 

Go,    Mercury,    to    Earth,    and    gather 
there 

A  score  or  so ;  there 's  plenty  and   to 
spare, 

I  warrant  me,  among  the  womankind, 

Bv  use  and  disposition  well  designed 

For  Fury -service  of  the  active  sort. 

Examine   well,  and  bring  me  due    re- 
port. 

MERCURY.     I 'm  off  at  once  !     I  fan 
cv  I  can  find 

Fifty,  at  least,  exactly  to  your  mind  ; 

Sharp-tongued,  sour-visaged,  malice-lov- 
ing ladies 

Whom  others  than  yourself  have  wished 
in  Hades ! 

[Exit  MEBCUBI 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  AND   THE  RUSTIC. 


195 


ACT  II.     SCBSK  :   Olympus  :   Juso's  bowluir. 
JUNO,  IRIS. 

JUNO.    I  'm  much  annoyed,  good  Iris, 

with  the  airs 

Of  vaunting  Venus,  — as  if  all  affairs 
In  heaven  and  earth    were   under  her 

control  ! 
I  hear  she  boasts  that  scarce  a  human 

soul 

Is  free  from  her  authority ;  that  all 
The  people  in  the  world  are  fain  to  fall 
Upon  their  knees  at  her  command,  and 

own 
No    equal    goddess    on   the   Olympian 

throne. 

IRIS.     Is't  possible? 
Juso.     Yes,  Iris,  worse  than  that, 
She  and   her  hoy,  (a  mischief-breeding 

brat ! ) 

Who  aids  his  mother  by  his  wicked  art, 
Declare  (O  shame !)  then  's  not  a  female 

heart 

In  all  the  universe  —  below,  above  — 
Which  has  not  felt  the  subtle  force  of 

love ! 

An  arrant  falsehood,  spoken  just  to  vex 
The  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  scandalize 

the  sex. 
Among  the  earthly  maidens,  therefore, 

8°> 
And  bring  me  back  some  evidence  to 

show 

That  Cythe'-ea  says  —  what  is  n't  so  ! 
IRIS."    I  fl v  !  and  never  for  a  moment 

doubt' 

I  '11  bring  you  proofs  to  wipe  the  slan- 
der out. 

[Exit  IRIS 

ACT  III     SCENE  .  samt  as  before.    JUNO  read- 
ing. 

(Enter  IBIS.) 

IBIS.     O  gracious  Queen,  I've  had  a 

precious  time ! 

Well,  I  must  sav,  if  love  is  such  a  crime 
As  well   I  know  it  is,  (the  more  's  the 

pity!) 
There  's  not  a  place  on  earth  —  hamlet 

or  city  — 

That  is  n't  full  of  it !     In  actual  life 
'T  is  the  cliief  topic ;  notion,  too,  is  rife 
With  endless  talk  about   it.     On   the 

stage, 
In  poems,  songs,  't  is  everywhere  the 

rage 


Love,  love,  was  still  the  theme  where'er 

I  went, 
In  court,  cot,  castle,  and  the  warrior's 

tent, 
Love-knots,  love-plots,  love-murders  !  — 

such  a  rush 
For  love-romances  in  the  papers  — 

JUNO.  Hush ! 

Do  stop  your  prat  He,  Iris,  and  confess 

Yon  found  some  souls  as  yet  untainted  — 

IRIS.  Yes ! 

That  is,  I  heard  of  three, — three  virgin 

breasts 
That  never  <»nce  had  throbbed  at  Love's 

behests. 
JDNO.     Of  course  you  brought  them 

with  you.     Three  will  prove 
All  are   not  vassals   to   the   Queen   of 

Love ! 
IRIS.      Well  —  no  —  unluckily,   the 

day  before 

A  royal  messenger  from  Pluto's  shore 
Took  them   away   to  grace   his  grimy 

court, 
His  stock  of   Furies   being   something 

short. 

[Juno  faints,  and  curtain  fall*. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  AND  THE 
RUSTIC. 


A    MORAL    HOMILY. 

A  GRAVE  philosopher,  whose  name 

To  Scvthiii  gave  resplendent  fame, 

Intent  his  knowledge  to  increase, 

A  journey  took  through  classic  Greece, 

Where,  to  his  profit  and  delight, 

He  saw  full  many  a  novel  si^ht, 

Towers,  temples^  people,  —  and  much 

more, 

As  brave  Ulysses  did  of  yore  ; 
But  chiefly  he  was  struck  to  see 
A  simple  man,  of  low  degree. 
Untaught  in  philosophic  page, 
But  in  his  life  a  very  sage. 
His  farm,  a  little  patch  of  land, 
He  tilled  with  such  n  clever  hand, 
It  yielded  all  he  cared  to  spend, 
And  something  more  to  treat  a  friend 
Approaching  where  the  rustic  now 
Was  clipping  at  an  apple-boagfe, 
The  Scvi  Irian  £ave  a  wondering  look, 
To  see  him  wiold  his  prunin^-hook, 
Here  loupiiig  off  a  w<tti3red  limb, 
There  reaching  high  a  branch  to  trim, 


196 


THE  GARDENER  AND  THE  KING. 


Correcting  nature  everywhere, 

But  always  with  judicious  care. 

"  Sir,''  s.iid  the  Tourist,  "  tell  me  why 

This  wanton  waste  that  meets  my  eye  ? 

Your  husbandry  seems  rather  rough  ; 

Time's    scythe    will     cut     them    soon 

enough  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Sage,  "  I  only  dress 
Mv  apple-trees,  and  curb  <  xcess  ; 
Enhancing  thus,  as  seems  but  wise, 
My  fruit  in  swcetne-s,  tale,  iind  size." 
Hemming  home  the  Scythian  took 
Without  delay  his  prnning-liook, 
On  all  his  trees  the  knife  he  tried, 
And  cut  and  carved  on  >  very  side, 
Nor  from  his  murderous  work  refrained 
Till    naught    but    barren    ctumps    re- 
mained. 


This  Scythian  sage  resembles  those 
Who    deem    their   passions    are    their 

fot-s ; 

And  who,  instead  of  pruning  where 
Excess  requires  the  owner's  care, 
Cut  down  the  tree  tliar  God  has  made 
With  fierce  Repression's  cruel  blade ; 
And  thus,  for  future  life,  destroy 
All  precious  fruit  of  human  joy. 


THE  GARDENRR  AND  THE 
KING. 

FltOM    THK    GERMAN. 

ONCE  on  a  time,  at  Erivnn, 

There  dwelt  a  poor  but  honest  man 

Who  kept  a  little  garden,  where 

Th  re  grew  much  fruit,  so  fine  and  fair, 

So  large  mid  juicy,  ripe  and  sound, 

' T  WHS  known  for  many  leagues  around. 

<  >ne  day  n  neighbor,  looking  o'er 

The  autumn's  wealth,  a  goo  Uy  store, 

Advised  the  owner  thus:    "  Good  man, 

Take  some  of  these  to  Ispahan ; 

'T  will  please  the  King,  who,  I  am  told, 

Cares  more  for  luxury  than  gold  ; 

And  so  your  fortune  "you  'II  increase 

By  many  a  shining  golden  piece." 

"Faith!  so  I  will !  "  the  man  replies 

Then  to  the  market-place  he  hies  ; 

The  finest  basket  he  can  find 

He  buys,  then  stores  it  to  his  mind 

With  choicest  fruit  of  every  sort, 

And  off  he  starts  for  kirn;  and  court. 


Arrived,  the  Marshal  asks  his  name, 
And,  learning  whence  and  why  he  came, 
He  bade  him  enter.     That 's  the  way 
It  was  in  Persia,  —  and  to-day 
In  every  land,  except  our  own, 
The  same  partiality  is  shown ; 
The  giver  finds  an  open  gate, 
While   he   who  seeks   may   stand    and 

wait ! 

The  King,  delighted  with  the  fruit, 
Returned    his   th-uiks,  —  and  would   it 

iiiit 

The  worthy  man  to  bring  some  more  ? 
Ah,  that  it  would  !     Was  e'er  before 
A  man  so  lucky1?     Now,  the  while 
He  waits  to  catch  the  royal  smile, 
And  get  his  pay,  he  stares  at  all 
So  new  and  strange  —  the  lofty  hall, 
And  people  there  ;  among  the  rest, 
To  put  his  manners  to  the  test, 
An  ugly  litile  dwarf  he  spies, 
A  hunchback  of  such  paltry  size 
The  gardener  laujied  aloud.     Alack . 
"  The  fellow  with  the  crooked  back 
And    bandy    legs  !  —  who   could    have 

known 

That  lie  in  rank  was  next  the  throne  ? 
Though  small  in  size,  in  honor  great, 
In  fact,  Prime  Minister  of  State!  " 
His  Honor  scowled  and  looked  around, 
And  on  the  stranger  g;  imlv  frowned. 
Enough  !  tiie  guard,  who  understand 
The  hint,  now  take  the  chap  in  hand, 
And,  quicker  than  yon  read  the  tale, 
The  gardener  finds'  himself  in  jail ! 

Here,  quite  forgotten,  he  remained, 
Of  light  and  liberty  restrained, 
For  twelve  long  months;  and  might,  no 

doubt, 

H-ive  been  still  longer  getting  out, 
Had  not  the  king,  grown  haid  to  suit, 
Made  mention  of  the  finer  fruit 
The  stranger  brought  a  year  ago, 
And  thus  his  Majesty  would  know 
What  it  might  mean",  and  why  the  man 
Had  come  no  more  to  Ispahan  ? 
Now,  when  the  truth   was   brought  to 

light, 
The  King  —  who  laughed  with  all  his 

might 

To  hear  about  the  .-trange  mishap  — 
Said,   "  Go,  my  men  !  and    bring    the 

chap ; 

'T  is  fit  I  make  him  some  amends." 
Forth    comes    the    gardener,    and    at 

tends 

Upon  the  Kin?,  who  says.  "  I  've  heard 
The  story,  fellow,  every  word, 


THE   OLD   GENERAL  AND  HIS  KING. 

THE  FAIRY'S  GIFTS. 


197 


And    fain     some     recompense    would 

in  nke; 

Indeed,  it  was  n  grnve  mistake, 
Although  it  makes  me  laugh  to  split 
My  sides  —  ha  !  iia  !  —  to  think  of  it ! 
Now,    name    your    wish,  —  au     easy 

task,  — 

And  I  will  grant  whate'er  yon  ask." 
"Then    grant    me    this,""  replied    the 

man, 

"An  axe,  som<-  salt,  an  Alkoran. 
Well,  that  will  do ;  of  nil  your  .-tore 
Those  will  suffice,  —  I  ask'no  more." 
"Strange    things   to  ask!"    exclaimed 

the  King, 

"  Now  tell  the  meaning  of  this  thing." 
"  The  axe  I  want  to  fell  ihi'tree 
That  hore  the  fruit  I  gave  to  thee; 
The  salt,  upon  the  earth  to  sow, 
That  none  thereon  a^ain  mav  grow; 
The  Alkoran,  that  I  mav  swear, 
While  I  enjoy  God's  blessed  air, 
That  I  will  never  darken  more 
(With  my  consent)  a  palace  door  !  " 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  FAITHFUL. 


Iv  a  far-away  country,  some  centuries 

since 
(If  the  story  is  false,  it  is  certainly 

pleasant), 
Two    fairies  attended   the   birth  of    a 

Prince, 

And,  after  their  custom,  each  brought 
him  a  present. 

"  I   bring   him,"  one   whispered,  "  the- 

eagle's  bright  vision, 
So  keen  and  wide  reaching  that  even 

a  fly 
The  monarch  may  mark  with  the  sharp* 

est  precision, 

However  remote,  at  a  glance  of  hi* 
eye." 

"  An  excellent  gjft  for  a  sovereign,  n* 

doubt," 
The  other  responds,  "  is  a  good  pair 

of  eyes : 
But  an  eagle  would  scorn  to  be  peering 

about, 

With'  intent  to  remark  the  behavior 
of  flies ! 


to  the  eagle's  keen 


UPON    the    faithful    in    the    common    I  "  And  so  to  your  present  I  beg  to  unite 

things  A  gift  of  my  choosing,  —  well  suited- 

Enjoined   of    Duty,    rarest   blessings  j  to  kings, 

wait.  I  And  others  no  less; 

A    pions     Nun    (an     ancient    volume    j  sight 

bn'ngs  I   add    his   contempt   for  all    trivial 

The  legend  and  the  lesson),  while  she  j  things!" 

s;ite 

'  In  sooth,"  said  the  first,  "  I  confes* 
that  I  think 


Reading  some  scriptures  of  the  Sacred 

Word, 

And  marveling  much  at  Christ's  ex- 
ceeding grace, 
Saw    in    her    room    a    Vision  of    the 

Lord. 
With   sudden  splendor  filling  all  the 

pi-ice ! 
Whereat  she  knelt,  enraptured ;  when 

a  Ml 

Signaled  her  hour  to  feed   the   con- 
vent's poor ; 
Which   humble  dntv  done,  she  sought 

her  cell. 
And    lo!    the  Vision,  brighter  than 

before, 
JVho,    smiling,    spake:    "Even    so    is 

heaven  obtained ; 

I — hmlst  th"ii  lingered  here  —  had 
not  remained ! " 


Your  CM ut ions  restriction  exceedingly 

wi-e ; 
How  oft<-n   it  happens  that  merely  to 

wink 

Is  the  propereat  use  we  can  make  of 
our  eyes ! " 


THE    OLD    GENERAL   AND    Hfi£ 
KING. 

"  ALL  men  think  all  men  mortal  but 
Themselves!"  says  Young.     The  ca»» 

is  put 

Extremely  strong,  and  yet,  in  sooth, 
The  statement  scarce  exceeds  the  truth 
That  is  to  say.  excepting  those 
So  very  ill  they  can't  suppose 


198 


THE  SPELL   OF  CIRCE, 


They  've  long  to  live,  there  's  scarcely 

one 

But  deems  his  earthly  course  will  run 
(Despite    some    transient    doubts    and 

fears)  . 

Beyond  his  friend's  of  equal  years. 
In  proof  how  far  such  dreams  prevail, 
Pray  mark  this  old  historic  tale. 
A  General,  whose  lengthened  term 
Of  life  had  found  him  quite  infirm, 
Was  questioned  by  his  Majesty 
(Older,  by  several  yean,  than  he) 
About  his  place  of  burial.     "  Where," 
The  King  inquired  with  friendly  care, 
"  Prav    tell   me,   would   it  please  you 

best 
Your  brave  old  honored  bones  should 

rest  ?  " 

"Ah!  "  said  the  Soldier,  "seldom  I 
Have  thought  of  death ;   but  when  I 

die, 

I  'd  have  my  grave  not  quite  alone, 
But  near  to  where  they  've  placed  your 

own  ! " 


SAINT  VERENA  AND  SATAN. 

A    LEGEND    OF   THE    ALPS. 

BELOW  Mount  Jura  lies  a  vale 

Extremely  dark  and  deep  and  wide, 

Where  once,  if  we  may  trust  the  tale, 
Good  Saint  Verena  lived  and  died. 

A  pious  dam>el,  sooth,  was  she, 
Who  made  her  lowlv  life  sublime 

With  works  of  grace  and  charity  ; 
The  marvel  of  her  age  and  clime. 

To  heal  the  sick,  and  teach  the  younor, 
And  lead  the  weak  in  Virtue's  ways, 

Her  daily  life.  —  and  every  tongue 
lu  all  the  valley  sang  her  praise, 

Save  one. — of  course  the"  Evil  One,"  — 
Who.  beinsr  evermore  at  strife 

With  pious  folks,  left  naught  undone 
To  end  good  Saint  Verena's  life. 

Sometimes  he  turned,  the  legends  say, 
A  mountain  torrent  in  tier  path  ;    , 

In  vain  !  dry  shod  she  held  her  way, 
Unhurt,  despite  the  Devil's  wrath ! 

And  once  a  murderer,  in  the  night, 
The  fiend  employed  to  take  lier  life  ;    I 


In  vain  !  for  when  his  lantern  light 
Revealed    her  face,   he   dropped   htl 
knife. 

And  so  it  fell,  the  Devil's  skill 

No  harm  to  Saint  Verena  brought ; 

He  failed  to  work  his  wicked  will, 
And  all  his  malice  came  to  naught. 

Enraged,  at  last  he  seized  a  stone,  - 
Intent  at  once  to  cru*h  her  dead, 

(A  rock  that  weighed  at  least  a  ton  !) 
And  held  it  poised  above  her  head. 

Whereat  she  turned,  and  at  the  sight 
(Such  angel-beauty  filled  her  face) 

Poor  Satan  shuddered  with  affright, 
And  fain  had  fled  the  holy  place  ! 

And  in  his  fear  he  trembled  so 
He    dropped     the    stone,  —  down  — 
down  it  goes ! 

To  fall  on  Saint  Verena?  —  No! 
It  falls  instead  on  Satan's  toes! 

And  since  that  day  he  limps  about, 
Unable  more  to-leap  or  run  ; 

And,  that  the  story  none  may  doubt, 
You  still  may  see  the  very  stone ; 

With  five  deep  marks  on  either  side, 
Which  —  so  the  pious  peasant  hints, 

Though  wicked  skeptics  mav  deride  — 
Are  clearly  Satan's  finger-prints. 


THE  SPELL  OF  CIRCE. 

A   CLASSIC   FABLE. 

WHEN  all  his  comrades  drank  the  mag- 
ic bowl 

Of  crafty  Circe,  changing  form  and 
soul 

Of  men  to  brutes,  —  wolves,  lions, 
bears,  and  swine. 

Ulysses  only,  full  of  strength  divine, 

And  matchless  wisdom,  'scaped  the  si- 
ten's  snare ; 

Refused  the  tempting  cup,  and  (triumph 
rare  !) 

Returned  another  mixed  with  so  much 
skill 

It  charmed  the  charmer  to  the  hero's 
will, 

Till  now  she  promised  to  restore  hi* 
men 


THE   TWO    GRAVES. 


199 


From   beastly    shapes  to  human  forms 

again, 
If  so    they   willed  :•  "  Pray,   let    them 

freely  choo>e," 
The   siren  said ;  "  but  what  if  they  re 

fuse  ?  " 
Straight   to  the   brutes    their    ancient 

leader  ran, 
And  thus,    wit.li   joy,  his  eager  tongue 

began  : 
"  My  pre>ence  here  your  quick  release 

secures  ; 
Speak  but  the  word,  —  for  speech  again 

i.s  yours." 
Thb  lion  answered  first :  "What,  I'   a 

king! 
To  change  my  state  for  such  a  paltry 

thin* 

As  a  nu -re  cit  or  sailor?     Let  me  be! 
1  'in  always  armed,  for  I  have  daws,  you 

see ! 

As  monarch  of  the  forest  now  I  range; 
Thanks    for    yonr    kindness, —  but     I 

would  not  change." 
Ulysses  next  approached   the    shaggy 

bear : 

"  Alas  !  how  ill  your  form  and  face  com- 
pare 
With  those,  my  friend,  that  you  were 

wont  to  show 

To  courtly  dames  a  little  while  ago  !  " 
"  Indeed,"  the  bear  replied,  "  my  pres- 
ent form 

Is  one  I  find  extremelv  nice  and  warm  ; 
And  as  to  features,  sir,  the  ursine  race 
Have  their  own  notion*  of  a  pretty  face. 
I  well  remember  what  I  used  to  be, — 
A  shivering  sailor  on  the  stormy  sea; 
And,  faith !  old  man,  I  tell  you  plump 

and  square, 
Compared  with  such,  I'd  rather  be  a 

bear !  " 

Next  to  the  wolf  the  anxious  hero  came. 
And  begged  the  brute  to  change  his  ugly 

name 

And  office :  "  What !  destroy  the  shep- 
herd's flot-ks  1 

Sure,  such  a  life  a  noble  nature  shocks; 
Quit  now,  my  old  companion,  while  you 

can, 
Your  thieving  trade,  and  be  an  honest 

man !  " 
"An  honest  man?"  he  howled,  "nay, 

who  d'  ye  mean  ? 
Faith  !  that 's  a  man  that  I  have  never 

seen  ! 
And  as  to  eating  sheep,  —  pray  tell  me 

when 


Thev  ceased  to  be  the  prey  and  food  of 

men  ? 
Savage  ?  you  say  ;  why,  men  slay  men, 

we  find ; 
Wolves,  at  the  worst,  are  wont  to  spare 

their  kind  !  " 
The  hog  came   next.     Change    back  * 

Not  he !   to  tell 
The  honest  truth,  lie  liked  his  ease  too 

well ; 
"  Where  will  you  find,"  grunts  out  the 

filthy  swine, 

"  A  life  so  blest  with  luxury  as  mine? 
To   eat  and   drink   and   sleep,  —  grow 

plump  and  fat,  — 
What  more,  I  ask,  can  mortal  wish  than 

that?" 
So  answered  all  the  rest,  the  small  and 

great, 
Each  quite  contented  with  his  beastlj 

state ; 
Each  spurning  manhood  and  its  joys  to 

boot, 
To  be  a  lawless,  lazy,  sensual  brute. 


THE  TWO  GRAVES. 

A   GERMAN    LEGEND. 

A  MAN  who  long  had  tried  in  vain 
The  doctor's  skill  to  ease  the  pain 
That  racked  his  limbs,  until  his  gout 
Scarce  suffered  him  to  crawl  about, 
Though  much  inclining  to  despair, 
Gave  ear  to  all  who  spoke  him  fair, 
And  told  of  means  that  might  insure 
The  end  he  sought,  —  relief  or  cure. 

Among  a  crowd  of  snrh,  there  came, 
To  proffer  help,  an  ancient  dame. 
Who,  having  heard  with  solemn  face 
The  nature  of  the  patient's  case. 
Advised  him  thus  :     "  At  early  light, 
While  yet  the  grass  is  damp  w'ith  night, 
Go  sit  upon  a  good,  man's  grave, 
And  in  the  dews  upon  it  lave 
Your  aching  limbs;  repeat  it  thrice; 
My  word,  't  will  cure  you  in  a  trice. 

Next  morning  at  the  dawn  of  day 
The  cripple  takes  his  weary  way 
Unto  the  churchyard  ;  where,  upon 
A  monument  of  polished  stone, 
He  reads  with  joy  :  "  Here  lies  a  man 
Whose  living  virtues  far  outran 
All  words  of  praise,  —  a  model  he 
Of  Justice,  Goodness,  Charity." 


200      THE  FARMER   WHO  MADE  HIS  OWN    WEATHER. 


Enough  !  the  patient  takes  his  seat 
And  in  the  moisture  bathes  his  feet 
And  aching  joints  ;  but,  sooth  to  say, 
It  did  not  drive  his  gout  away, 
Though  thrice  repeated  ;  nay,  he  swore 
The  pain  was  greater  than  before. 

What  next  ?     Near  by,  a  hillock  lies 
Of  grass-grown  earrh  ;  and  so  he  tries 
The  dame's  proscription  once  again  ; 
And  lo  !  swift  flies  the  patient's  pain  ; 
He  drops  his  staff,  and,  strange  to  tell, 
Hi*  gout  is  gone,  —  the  man  is  well ! 
With  grateful  heart  and  beaming  face 
He  turns  the  sleeper's  name  to  trace  ; 
But  no ;  a  slab  is  there  alone. 
With  not  a  word  upon  the  stone. 


KING  PYRRHUS  AND  HIS  COUN- 
SELOR. 

AN    APOLOGUE    FROM    BOIL.EAU. 

QCOTH  Cyneas,  counselor  and  friend 
To  royal  Pyrrhus.  "  To  what  end, 
Tell  me,  O'mightiest  of  kings, 
Are  all  these  ships  and  warlike  things  7  " 
"  To  conquer  Rome  !  —  a  pretty  prize, 
And  worth  the  cost,"  the  King  replies ; 
"  She  '11  prove,  I  think,  a  valiant  fo'j  ; 
80,  if  von  please,  to  Home  we  go." 
"  Well",  —  Rome    reduced,    my     royal 

friend. 

What  conquest  next  do  you  intend  ?  " 
"The  rest  of  Italy  will  do 
To    keep    our    arms     from     rusting." 

"  True. 
And  then,  of  course  there  's  something 

more  ? " 

"  Well,  —  Sicily,  a  neighboring  shore, 
Is  worth  the  having."     "  Very  well,  — 
What   next?"     "That   isn't   hard    to 

tell; 

Of  such  a  navy  what 's  the  use 
Unle-s  we  sail  to  Syracuse  ?  " 
"'Tis  well. —  and,   having    at    com- 
mand 
All  these,  whv,  then  vou  '11  stay  your 

hand?" 

"  No.     Syracuse  obtained,  we  '11  make 
A  trip  to  "Carthage  ;  then  we  '11  'ake  "  — 
"  Your  scheme  is  vast,  I  must  confess. 
Thus  you  advance  till  you  possess 
Arabia,  Africa,  and  what 
May  lie  beyond,  —  till  you  have  got 
The  Indian  realm  ;  nor  resting  there, 
Extend  your  broad  dominion  where 


The  hardy  Scythian  dwells.  And^en?" 
"  Why,  then  we'll  hasten  back  again, 
And  take  our  ease,  and  sweetly  spend 
Our  lives  in  pleasure  to  the  end." 
So  quoth   the  King.     "Ah!"   Cyneaa 

said, 

And  gravely  shook  his  reverend  head, 
"  Whv  go  so  far  and  pay  so  dear 
'For  pleasures.  Sire,  that  now  and  here 
We   may  possess?     How    much    more 

wise 

To  take  the  good  that  near  us  lies, 
To  seize  the  passing  joy,  unvext 
With  anxious  care  about  the  next!  " 


THE  FARMER  WHO  MADE  HIS 
OWN  WEATHER. 

|  ONCE  on  a  time,  Lafontaine  writes, 
Jove,  sitting  on  th'  Olympian  heights, 
Called  nimble  Mercury  to  his  side. 
And  bade  him  publish,  far  and  wide, 
"  A  farm  to  let  !  "     Whereat,  he  flies 
Through  all  the  world  to  advertise 
"  The  finest  farm  that  can  lie  found 
For  fifty  thousand  miles  around  ; 
To  let  —  on  terms  quite  sure  to  please 
Whoe'er  may  wish  to  take  the  lease !  *' 

Then    came    the   farmers   thick  and 

fast 

To  see  the  land,  —  which  far  surpassed 
Their  bright<  st  hopes ;  but  in  a  trice 
All  fell  to  hilling  at  the  price. 
One  said  the  soil  was  ihin  and  poor; 
Another,  that  it  lacked  manure  ; 
And  siill  another  man  made  bold 
To  say  the  land  was  sour  and  cold  ; 
Each  finding  fault,  witli  sluvwd  intent 
To  cheapen  what  he  wished  to  tent. 

At  length,  when  all   had  said  their 

say, 

And  some  began  to  go  away, 
One,  who  as  yet  had  held  his  peace, 
Proposed  at  once  to  take  the  lease, 
Provided  Jove  would  give  him  power 
O'er    cold     and    heat,    o'er    sun    an(j 

shower ; 

In  brief  —  to  sum  it  all  together  — 
The  power  to  regulate  the  weather  ! 
'T  is  granted  !     So,  bv  Jove's  command, 
The  joyful  tenant  takes  the  land. 
He  rains  or  shines,  makes  cold  or  warm, 
Brings  down  the  dew,  averts  the  storm 
Rules,  at  his  will,  the  wind  that  blows, 
And  regulates  the  winter's  snows. 
In  short,  within  the  narrow  range 


THE   TRAVELER  AND   THE  TEMPEST. 


201 


Of  his  own  acros,  makes  the  change 
Of  seasons  through  the  varied  year. 

Alas  !  the  gift  proves  all  too  dear! 
For,  while  the  farmer  se«js  with  pain 
His  neighbors'  lands  are  rich  in  grain, 
And  all  th:it  genial  Nature  yields 
In  thrifty  herds  and  fruitful  fields, 
His  own"  di-spite  his  anxious  toil, 
Proves,  at  the  best,  ungrateful  soil, 
That  brings  him  naught  but  discontent. 
Without  a  sou  to  pay  the  rent. 

What  could  he  ilol  —  he  cannot  pay, 
And  so  the  man  was  fain  to  pray 
To  be  forgiven ;  with  shame  confessed 
His  folly,  —  who  essayed  to  test 
The  Power  divine  that  rules  above, 
Aud   deemed   himself   more  wise   than 
Jove. 


THE  PROXY  SAINT. 

EACH  for  himself  must  do  his  Master's 

work. 

Or  at  his  peril  leave  it  all  undone ; 
Witness  the  fate  of  oue  who  sought  to 

shirk 
The   sanctuary's   service,  yet   would 

shun 

The  penalty.     A  man  of  earthly  aims 
(So  runs  the  apologue),  whose  pious 

spouse 
Would  oft  remind  him  of  the  Church's 

claim-, 
Still   answered   thus,   "  Go  thou  and 

pay  our  vows 
For   tlu-e   and    me."      Now,    when    at 

Peter's  gate 
The   twain   together   had   arrived  at 

la-t. 

He  let  the  woman  in  ;  then  to  her  mate, 
Shutting  the   door,   "  Thou  hast  al- 
ready passed 
By  proxy,'"   said  the  Saint,  —  "just  in 

the  way 

That  thou  on  earth  wast  wont  to  fast 
and  pray." 


THE  TWO  WISHES. 

AN   EGYPTIAN   TALE. 

IN  Babylon,  some  ages  since, 
Death    took,    one    day,    the    reigning 
Prince; 


And  so,  't  is  needless  to  be  said, 
The  heir-apparent  reigned  instefld. 
(For  then  as  now  it  was  the  law, 
"  Le  rot  est  mart !  "  —  so  "  Vine  le  roi  t  " 
In  the  same  breath  the  courtiers  sing, 
"  The  King  is  dead  !  "  —  "  Long  live  the 

King!") 

The  son,  on  looking  round  to  find 
What  wealth  the  sire  had  left  behind, 
With  other  riches  —  more  indeed 
Then  e'en  a  king  could  fairly  need  — 
A  secret  chest  discovered,  where 
His  sordid  sire,  with  anxious  care, 
His  golden  gains  had  safely  stored, 
Till  now  it  reached  a  mighty  hoard. 
"Great    God!"   he  cried,  "O,   may   I 

spend 

This  ample  treasure  thou  dost  lend 
In  charity,  and  may  I  live 
Till  not  a  coin  remains  to  give !  " 

The    Vizier,    smiling,    said,    "  Good 

Sire, 

Your  noble  aim  I  much  admire ; 
But  list,  your  Majesty,  I  pray, 
To  what  I  heard  your  father"  say, 
While  gazing  on  this  verv  chest, 
Then  scarce  a  quarter  full,  at  best : 
'  O  gracious  God  !  be  it  thy  will,' 
He  cried,  '  that  I  mav  live  to  fill 
This  coffer  full !     Grant,  I  implore, 
This  one  request,  —  I  ask  no  more  ! ' " 


THE  TRAVELER  AND  THE 
TEMPEST. 

AN    ORIENTAL   TALE. 

A  MERCHANT,  —  so  the  tale  is  told 
In  Eastern  fable,  quaint  and  old, — 
Whom  urirent  business  called  to  roam 
On  foot  in  parts  remote  from  home, 
Was  caught,  one  morning,  in  a  shower 
Of  such  extremely  peltintr  power, 
The    man    was    fairly    drenched    with 

rain  ; 
And,  though  no  saint,   for   once   was 

fain 

To  call  on  Jove  in  earnest  prayer 
That  he,  the  pluvious  god,  would  spare 
A    suffering    wretch    whose    shivering 

form 

Was  like  to  perish  in  the  storm. 
But  still,  though  loud  his  prayers  arise, 
They  fail  to  pierce  the  murky  skies; 
And  added  vows  prove  all  in  vain 
To  stay  the  fury  of  the  rain. 


202 


PAST,  FUTURE,  AND  PRESENT. 


And  now,  since  Jove  no  succor  lent, 
The  traveler  prowls  his  discontent 
In  impious  scoffs  at  Heaven's  decrees. 
"  The  gods,"  he  muttered,  "  sit  at  ease, 
And  laugh  at  us  who  strive  to  please 
Their  vanity  with  praise  and  prayer, 
And  gifts  that  we  can  poorly  spare  ; 
Meanwhile  the  very  ills  they  send 
They    lack    the   power  —  or  will  —  to 

mend  ! " 
With    this,    he   sought   a   neighboring 

wood, 

To  shun  the  storm  as  best  he  could  ; 
When  lo  !  a  robber  issuing  thence, 
The  infiii,  unarmed  for  self-defense, 
With  flving  footsteps  sought  again 
The  fury  of  the  open  rain,  — 
A  friendly  barrier  now,  perchance, 
Against  the  robber's  dread  advance. 
And  so  it  proved,  yet,  as  he  fled, 
The  other,  pointing  at  his  head 
A  well-aimed  arrow,  would  have  slain 
The  fugitive,  had  not  the  rain 
The  moistened  bowstring  so  unnerved, 
The  dart  fell  short,  and  only  served 
The  more  to  speed  the  traveler's  flight, 
Till  he  was  safely  out  of  sight. 

Now,  when  the  storm   was  spent  at 

last, 

And  all  the  pain  and  peril  past, 
The  traveller,  resting  for  a  space 
Where     sunshine     made     a     pleasant 

place 

His  limbs  to  warm,  his  cloak  to  dry, 
Heard,  thundering  from  the  azure  sky, 
A  solemn  voice,  whose  words  proclaim 
The  source  celestial  whence  they  came  : 
"Consider  well.  O  mortal  man  f 
Ho\v  wise  is  Heaven's  benignant  plan  ; 
When    skies   are   black    and   tempests 

lower, 

Mark  not  alone  the   Thunderer's  pow- 
er, 

But  in  his  ways,  at  every  turn, 
His  kindly  providence  discern ! " 


PAST,  FUTURE,  AND  PRESENT 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

ONCE  on  a  time  —  we  need  not  care 
Too  nicely  for  the  when  and  u-hfre  — 
Three  princes,  who,  since  Time  had 

birth, 

Have  ruled  three  provinces  on  earth, 
Whate'er  the  scope  of  human  aims, 
(Past,     Future,     Present,     were    their 

names,) 

Me.t  on  n  pleasant  summer's  day, 
And  talking  in  a  friendly  way 
Of  topics  such  as  neighbors  use 
For  mere  companionship,  —  the  news, 
The  weather,  or  miiyhap  the  price 
Of  bullion  since  the  "last  advice 
Touching  the  royal  health,  —  began 
At  length  to  speculate  on  Man  , 

And  his  affairs ;  in  brief,  on  all 
Such  subtile  themes  as,  since  the  Fall, 
Have  puzzled  moralists  ;  and  then 
From  such  deep  talk  concerning  men 
As  ranged  from  Providence  to  Fate, 
They  fell  at  last  to  sharp  debate 
About  themselves,  as,  who  might  be 
In  power  the  greatest  of  the  three. 
"  I,"  said  the  Past,  "  must  be  the  one, 
Since  all  things  great  were  surely  done 
By   me,  —  there  's  naught   in    all    the 

land 

But  bears  the  impress  of  mv  h-nid  ! " 
"  True,"  said  the  Future  ;  "'yet  reflect, 
Your  doings  claim  but  small  respect 
Compared  with  mine,  —  since  all  to  be 
Henceforward  will  be  ruled  by  me  !  " 
"Nay,"  said   the  Present,  "cease  your 

claims ; 

What  are  ye  both  but  sounding  names! 
All  things  achieved  beneath  the  sun. 
And  all  on  earth  that  shall  be  done, 
Are  mine  alone  !  O'er  great  and  small 
The  Present  still  is  king  of  all ! " 


PROGRESS. 


203 


SATIRES. 


PROGRESS. 

A    SATIRE. 

In  this,  onr  happy  and  "  progressive  " 
age, 

When  all  .-dike  ambitious  cares  engnge; 

When  beardless  boys  to  sudden  sages 
j^row, 

And  "  M  iss "  her  nurse  abandons  for  a 
bean ; 

When  for  their  dogmas  Non-Resistnnts 
fight, 

When  dunces  lecture,  and  when  dandies 
write ; 

When  matrons,  seized  with  oratoric 
pangs, 

Give  happy  birth  to  masculine  ha- 
rangues. 

And  si'insters,  trembling  for  the  na- 
tion's fate, 

Neglect  their  stockings  to  preserve  the 
state ; 

When  crin'c  wits  their  brazen  lustre  shed 

On  golden  authors  whom  thev  never 
rend, 

f  With  pa;rot  praise  of  "Roman  grand- 
eur" .-peak, 

And  in  had  English  eulogize  the 
Greek;  — 

When  facts  like  these  no  reprehension 
bring. 

May  not,  uiicen>ured,  an  Attorney  sing? 

In  "sooth  he  mny  ;  and  though  "  un- 
born "  to  climb 

Parua-sus'  heignts,  and  "  build  the  lof ry 
rhyme,*1 

Thougii  Flaccus  fret,  and  warniugly  ad- 
vise 

That  "  middling  verses  gods  aud  meu 
despise," 

Yet  will  In-  sing,  to  Yankee  license  true, 

In  spite  of  Horace  and  "  Minerva  "  too! 

My  theme  is  Progress,  — never  tiring 

theme  I 

Of  prosing  dullness,  and  poetic  dream  ; 
Beloved  of  Optimists,  who  still  protest 
Whatever  happens,  happens  for  the  best ; 


Who  prate  of  "  evil "  as  a  thing  un- 
known, 

A  fancied  color,  or  a  seeming  tone, 

A  vague  chimera  cherished  by  the 
dull, 

The  empty  product  of  an  emptier  skull. 

Expert  logicians  they! — to  show  ^vt 
will, 

By  ill  philosophy,  that  naught  is  ill ! 

Should  some  sly  rogue,  the  city's  con- 
stant curse, 

Deplete  your  pocket  and  relieve  your 
purse, 

Or  if,  approaching  with  ill-omened 
tread, 

Some  l>older  burglar  break  your  house 
and  head, 

Hold,  friend,  thv  rage!  nay,  let  the  ras- 
cal flee ; " 

No  evil  has  heen  done  the  world,  or  thee : 

Here  comes  Philosophy  will  make  it 
plain 

Thy  seeming  loss  is  universal  gain! 

"  Thy  heap  of  gold  was  clearly  grown 
too  great,  — 

'T  were  best  the  poor  !«hould  share  thy 
large  estate ; 

While  misers  gather,  that  the  knaves 
should  steal, 

Is  most  conducive  to  the  general  weal; 

Thus  thieves  the  wrongs  of  avarice  ef- 
face, 

And  stand  the  friends  and  stewards  of 
the  race ; 

Thus  every  moral  ill  but  serves,  in  fact, 

Some  other  equal  ill  to  counteract." 

Sublime  I'hilo-ophy  !  —  benignant  light  » 

Which  sees  in  every  pair  of  wrongs,  a 
rijrht ; 

Which  finds  no  evil  or  in  sin  or  pain, 

And  proves  that  decalogues  are  writ  in 
vain! 

Hail,  mighty  Progress !    loftiest   we 

find 
Thy  stalking  strides  in  science  of  the 

mind. 
What    hoots    it  now  that  Locke  was 

learned  and  wise  ? 


PROGRESS. 


What  boots  it  now  that  men  have  ears 

and  eyes  1 
"  Pure  Reason  "  in  their  stead  now  hears 

and  sees, 
And  walks   apart   in   stately  scorn   of 

these ; 

Laughs  at   ''experience,"  spurns  "in- 
duction "  hence, 
Scouting  "  the  seuses,"  and  transcending 

sense. 

No  more  shall  flippant  ignorance  inquire, 
"  If   Herman    breasts    may   feel   poetic 

fire," 

Nor  German  dullness  write  ten  folios  full, 
To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are 

«        not  dull.1' 

For  here  Philosophy,  acute,  refined, 
Sings  nil  the  marvels  of  the  human  mind 
In  strains  so  passing  "  dainty  sweet "  to 

hear, 
That  e'en  the  nursery  turns  a  ravished 

ear ! 
Here    Wit    and    Fancy    in    scholastic 

bowers 
Twine  beauteous  wreaths  of  metaphysic 

flowers ; 
Here   Speculation    pours    her  dazzling 

light.   • 
Here  grand  Invention  wings  a  daring 

flight, 

And  soar.-  ambitions  to  the  lofty  moon, 
Whence,    haply,   freighted   with    some 

precious  boon. 

Some  old  "  Philosophy"  in  fog  incased, 
Or  new  "  Religion  "   for  the  changing 

taste, 
She  straight  descends  to  Learning's  blest 

abodes, 

Just  simultaneous  with  the  Paris  modes ! 
Here  1'lato's  dogmas  eloquently  speak. 
Not  as  of  yore,  in  grand  and  graeeftr 

Greek, 
But  (quite  beyond  the  dreaming  cage's 

hope 

Of  future  glory  in  his  fancy's  scope), 
Translated    down,   as   by   some   wizard 

touch, 
Find     "  immortality  "    in     good     high 

Dutch ! 

Happy  the  youth,  in  this  our  golden 

age, 
Condemned  no  more  to  con  the  prosy 

page 

Of  Locke,  and  Bacon,  antiquated  fools, 
Now  jus'ly  banished   from   our   moral 

schools. 
By  easier  modes  philosophy  is  taught, 


Than  through  the  medium  of  laborious 
thought. 

Imagination  kindly  serves  instead. 

And  saves  the  pupil  many  an  aching 
head. 

Room  for  the  sages  !  —  hither  come  a 
thronic 

Of  blooming  Platos  trippingly  along, 

In  dress  how  fitted  to  beguile  the  fair  ! 

What  intellectual,  statelv  heads  —  of 
hair! 

Hark  to  the  Oracle  !  —  to  Wisdom's 
tone 

Breathed  in  a  fragrant  zephyr  of 
Cologne. 

That  boy  in  gloves,  the  leader  of  the 
van. 

Talks  of  the  "  outer  "  and  the  "  inner 
man," 

And  knits  his  girlish  brow  in  stout  re- 
solve 

Some  mountain-sized  "idea  "  to  "  evolve." 

Delusive  toil !  —  thus  iu  their  infant 
days, 

When  children  mimic  manly  deeds  in 
plays, 

Long  will  ihev  sit,  and  eager  "  bob  for 
whale  "" 

Within  the  ocean  of  a  water  pail ! 

The  next,  whose  looks  miluckilv  reveal 

The  ears  portentous  that  his  locks  con- 
ceal, 

Prates  of  the  "orbs"  with  such  a  know- 
ing frown, 

You  deem  he  puffs  some  lithographic 
town 

In  Western  wilds,  where  yet  unbroken 
ranks 

Of  thrifty  beavers  build  unchartered 
"  banks," 

And  prowling  panthers  occupy  the  lots 

Adorned  with  churches  on  the  paper 
plots ! 

But  ah!  what  suffering  harp  is  this 
we  hear  ? 

What  jarring  sound-;  invade  the  wound- 
ed ear  1 

Who  o'er  the  lyre  a  hand  spasmodic 
flings, 

And  grinds  harsh  discord  from  the  tor- 
tured strings  1 

The  Sacred  Muses,  at  the  sound  dis- 
mayed, 

Retreat  disordered  to  their  native  sha'le, 

And  Phoebus  hastens  to  his  high  abode, 

And  Orpheus  frowns  to  hear  an  "  Orphic 
ode  !  " 


PROGRESS. 


206 


"  Talk  not,  ye  jockeys,  of  the  won- 
drous speed 
That   marks    your  Northeru    or    your 

Southeru  steed ; 
See     Progress     fly     o'er     Education's 

course ! 
Not   far-famed   Derby   owns    a    fleeter 

horse ! 
On    r;ire    Improvement's    "short    and 

easy  "  road, 
How  swift  her  flight  to  Learning's  blest 

abode ! 
In  other   times  —  't  was   many   years 

ago  — 
The    scholar's     course    was     toilsome, 

rough,  and  slow : 
The   fair   Humanities   were  sought   in 

tears, 
And    came,    the    trophy    of    laborious 

years. 
Now  Learning's  shrine  each  idle  youth 

may  seek, 
And,   spending  there  a  shilling  and  a 

week, 
{At  lightest   cost  of  studv,  cash,  and 

Imiea,) 
Comes  back,  like  Rumor,  with  a  hundred 

tongues ! 

What  boors  such  progress,  when  the 

golden  Io:td 
From   heedless   haste   is  lost  upon  the 

road  ? 
When  each  great  science,  to  the  student's 

pace, 
Stands    like   the    wicket    in    a    hurdle 

race, 
Which  to  o'erlcap  is  all   the   courser's 

mind, 
And  all  his  glory  that  't  is  left  behind ! 

Nor  less,  O  Progress,  are  thy  newest 

rules 
Enforced  and  honored  in  the  "  Ladies' 

School ;  " 

Where  Education,  in  its  nobler  sense, 
Gives   place   to    Learning's    shallowest 

pretense ; 
Where  hapless  maids,  in  spite  of  wish  or 

taste, 

On  vain  "  accomplishments  "  their  mo- 
ments waste ; 
By   cruel   parents   here   condemned   to 

wrench 
Their  tender  throats  in  mispronouncing 

French  ; 
Here  doomed  to  force,   by  unrelenting 

knocks, 


Reluctant  music  from  a  tortured  box; 

Here  taught,  in  inky  shades  and  rigid 
lines, 

To  perpetrate  equivocal  "  designs ;  " 

"Drawings"    that    prove    their    title 
plainly  true, 

By  showing  nature  "  drawn,"  and  "  quar- 
tered "  too ! 

In  ancient  times,  I  've  heard  my  grand- 
am  tell, 

Young  maids  were  taught  to  read,  and 
write,  and  spell ; 

(Neglected  arts !  once  learned  by  rigid 
rules, 

As   prime    essentials  in    the  "  common 
schools  ; ") 

Well  taught  beside  in  many  a  useful 
art 

To  mend  the  manners  and  improve  the 
heart ; 

Nor    yet   unskilled   to   turn    the   busy 
wheel, 

To   ply   the   shuttle,   and    to  twirl   the 
reel, 

Could  thrifty  tasks  with  cheerful  grace 
pursue, 

Themselves  "accomplished,"  and  their 
duties  too. 

Of  tongues,  each  maiden  had  but  one, 
't  is  said, 

(Enough,  't   was  thought,   to   serve    a 
lady's  head,) 

But    that   was    English,  —  great   and 
glorious  tongue. 

That    Chatham     spoke,     and     Milton, 
Shakespeare,  sung! 

Let  thoughts  too  idle  to  be  fitly  dressed 

In    sturdy    Saxon    be    in    French    ex- 
pressed ; 

Let    lovers    breathe   Italian,  —  like,   in 
sooth, 

Its  singers,  soft,  emasculate,  and  smooth ; 

But  for  a  tongue  whose  ample  powers 
embrace 

Beauty  and  force,  sublimity  and  grace. 

Ornate  or  plain,  harmonious,  yet  strong. 

And  formed    alike   for  eloquence  and 
song, 

Give  me  the  English,  —  aptest  tongue 
to  paint 

A  sage  or  dunce,  a  villain  or  a  saint, 

To  spur  the  slothful,  counsel  the  dis- 
tressed, 

To  lash  the  oppressor,  and  to  soothe  the 


To  lend  fantastic  Humor  freest  scope 


To   marshall    all    hi 
troop, 


laughter- moving 


206 


PROGRESS. 


Give  Pathos  power,  and  Fancy  lightest 
wings, 

And  Wit  Iris  merriest  whims  and  keen- 
est stings ! 

The  march  of  Progress  let  the  Muse 

explore 

In  pseudo-science  and  empiric  lore. 
O   sacred   Science!  how  art  thou  pro- 
faned, 

When  shallow  quacks  and  vagrants,  un- 
restrained, 
Flaunt  in  thy  robes,  and  vagabonds  are 

known 
To  brawl  thy  name,  who  never  wrote 

their  o'wn  ; 
When     crazy    theorists    their     addled 

schemes 

(Unseemly  product  of  dyspeptic  dreams) 
Impute    to    thee !  —  as    courtesans    of 

yore 
Their  spurious  bantlings  left  at  Mars's 

door; 

When  each  projector  of  a  patent  pill, 
Or  happy  founder  of  a  coffee-mill, 
Invokes  thine  aid  to  celebrate  his  wares, 
And  crown  with  gold  his  philanthropic 

c;ires ; 

Thus  Islam's  hawkers  piously  proclaim 
Their  figs  and  pippins  in  the  Prophet's 
mime  ! 

'       Some  sage  Physician,  studious  to  ad- 
vance 
The  art  of  healing,  and  its  praise  en- 

h.mce, 

Bv  observation  "scientific  "  finds 
(What  else  were  hidden  from  inferior 

minds) 
That   Water  'a   useful   in    a   thousand 

ways, 
To  cherisii  health,  and  lengthen  out  our 

days ; 

A  mighty  solvent  in  i-s  simple  scope 
Ami  quite    "  specific  "    with    Castilian 

soap ! 
The  doctor's  labors  let  the  thoughtless 

scorn, 
See !  a  new  "  science "  to  the  world  is 

born  ; 
"Di-ease  is  dirt!  all  paiu  the  patient 

feels 

Is  but  the  soiling  of  the  vita!  wheels; 
To  wash  away  all  particles  impure, 
And  cleanse  the  system,  plainly  is  to 

cure ! " 
Thus  shouts  the  doctor,  eloquent,  and 

proud 


To  teach  his  "  science  "  to  the  gapiig 

crowd ; 

Like  "  Father  Mathew,"  eager  to  allure 
Afflicted  mortals  to  his  "water-cure!" 

'T  is  thus  that  modern  "  sciences  "  are 

made, 

By  bold    assumption,  puffing,  and   pa- 
rade. 
Take    three    stale   "  truths ; "   a    dozen 

"  facts,"  assumed ; 
Two  known  "effects,"  and  fifty  more 

presumed ; 

"  Affinities  "  a  score,  to  sense  unknown, 
And,  j  ust  as  "  lucits,  non  lucendo  "  shown, 
Add    but  a  name  of   pompous  Anglo- 
Greek, 

And  only  not  impossible  to  speak, 
The  work  is  done  ;  a  "  science  "  stands 

confest, 

And    countless     welcomes    greet    the 
queenly  guest. 

In  closest  girdle,  0  reluctant  Mnse. 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest-stepping 

shoes,11 

Prepare   to   follow   Fashion's   gay   ad- 
vance, 
And   thread   the  mazes  of  her  motley 

dance : 

And.  marking  well  each  momentary  hue, 
And  transient  form,  that  meets  the 

wondering  view, 

In  kindred  colors,  geutle  Muse,  essay 
Her  Protean  phases  fitly  to  betray. 
To-day,  she  slowly  drags  a  cumbrous 

"trail, 
And   "  Ton "  rejoices   in  its  length   of 

tail; 
To-morrow,    changing    her    capricious 

sport, 
She  trims  her  flounces  just  as  much  too 

short ; 

To-day,  right  jauntily,  a  hat  she  wears 
That  "scarce  affords  a  shelter  to  her 

ears  ; 
To-morrow,  haply,  searching    long    in 

vain, 
You  spy  her  features  down  a  Leghorn 

lane  ; 
To  day,  she  glides  along  with  queenly 

grace, 

To-morrow,  ambles  in  a  mincing  pace. 
To-day,  erect,  she  loves  a  martial  air, 
And  envious  train-bands  emulate  the 

fair  ; 
To-morrow,  changing  as  her  whim  may 

serve, 


PROGRESS. 


207 


*  She  stoops  to  conquer  "  in  a  "  Grecian 

curve."  l2 

To-day,  with  careful  negligence  arrayed 
In  scanty  folds,  of  woven  zephyrs  made, 
She  moves  like  Diau  iu  her  woody 

bowers, 

Or  Flora  floating  o'er  a  bed  of  flowers; 
To-morrow,  laden  with  a  motley  freight, 
Of  startling  bulk  and  formidable  weight, 
She  waddles  forth,  ambitions  to  amaze 
The  vulgar  crowd,  who  giggle  as  they 

gaze. 

Despotic  Fashion  !  potent  i>  her  swav, 

Whom  half  the  world  full  loyally  obey  ; 

Kings  bow  submissive  to  her  sfern  de- 
crees, 

And  proud  Republics  bend  their  necks 
and  knees; 

Where'er  we  turn  the  attentive  eye,  is 
seen 

The  worshiped  presence  of  the  modish 
queen ; 

In  Dress,  Philosophy,  Religion,  Art, 

Whate'er  employs  the  head,  or  hand,  or 
heart. 


From  an  unyielding  pimple  on  her  nose, 
Some   unaccustomed    "  buz/.ing  in   her 


some  fine  lady  quite  o'ercome  with 

rocs, 
Fi 
Some 

ears," 

Or  otliL-r  marvel  to  alarm  her  fears  ? 
Fashion,  with  skill  and  judgment  ever 

nice, 

At  once  advises  "  medical  advice  !  " 
'1  hen  names  her  doctor,  who,  arrived  in 

haste, 
Proceeds  accordant   with   the    laws   oi 

taste. 

If  mil  ills  afflict  the  modish  dame, 
Her  blind  idolatry  is  still  the  same  ; 
Less  t:rie^ous  far,  she  deems  it,  to  en- 
dure 

Genteel  malpractice,  than  a  vulgar  cure. 
If,  spite  of  gilded  pills  and  golden  fees, 
Her  di'ar  dyspepsia  grows  a  dire  disease, 
And    Doctor  Dapper  proves  a  shallow 

rogue, 
The  world  must  own  that   both   were 

much  in  vogue. 

What  impious  mockery,   when,  with 

soulless  art, 
Fashion,    intrusive,   seeks   to   rule   the 

heart ! 
Directs    how  grief  may   tastefully   be 

borne  • 


Instructs  Bereavement  just  how  long  to 
mourn  ; 

Shows  Sorrow  how  by  nice  degrees  to 
fade, 

And  marks  its  measure  in  a  ribbon's 
shade  ! 

More  impious  still,  when,  through  her 
wanton  laws, 

She  desecrates  Religion's  sacred  cause  ; 

Shows  how  "  the  narrow  road  "  is  easi- 
est trod, 

And  how,  genteclest,  worms  may  wor- 
ship God  ; 

How  sacred  rites  may  bear  a  worldly 
grace, 

And  self-abasement  wear  a  haughty 
face; 

How  sinners,  long  in  Folly's  mazes 
whirled. 

With  pomp  and  splendor  may  "  re- 
nounce the  world ; " 

How,  "  with  all  saints  hereafter  to  ap- 
pear," 

Yet  quite  escape  the  vulgar  portion 
here ! 

Imperial  fashion  !  her  impartial  care 
Things    most    momentous,    and    most 

trivial,  share ; 
Now  crushing  conscience  (her  invet'rate 

foe), 
And  now  a  waist,  and  now,  perchance, 

a  toe; 
At  once    for  pistols  and  "  the  Polka  " 

votes, 
And  shapes  alike  our  characters  and 

coats. 
The  gravest  question  which  the  world 

divides, 

And  lightest  riddle,  in  a  breath  decides  : 
"  If  wrong  may  not,  by  circumstance,  be 

right,"  — 
"If  black  cravats  be  more  genteel  than 

white,"  — 
"  If  by    her    '  bishop,'    or  her    '  grace,' 

alone, 
A     genuine     lady,     or  a    church,     is 

known  ; "  — 
Problems    like    these  she    solves    with 

graceful  air, 
At  once  a  casuist  and  a  connoisseur. 

Does  some  sleek  knave,  whom  magic 

monev-bags 
Have  raised  above  his  fellow-knaves  in 

rags. 
Some    willing    minion    of    unblushing 

Vice., 


PROGRESS. 


Who  boasts  that  "  Virtue  ever  has  her 

price,"  — 
Does   he,    uupitying,  blast    thy    sister's 

fame, 
Or    doom    thy    daughter    to    undying 

shame, 
To   bow    her   head  beneath  the  eye  of 

scorn, 
And  droop  and   wither  in  her  maiden 


morn  ? 
Fashion     "  regrets,'1 
verv  wronir," 


declares    "  't  was 


And,  quite  dejected,  hums  an  opera 
song 

Impartial  friend,  your  cause  to  her  ap- 
pealed, 

Yourself  and  foe  she  summons  to  the 
field, 

Where  Honor  carefully  the  case  ob- 
serves, 

And  nicely  weighs  it  in  a  scale  of  nerves. 

Despotic  "rite!  whose  fierce,  vindictive 
reign 

Boasts,  unrelmked,  its  countless  victims 
slain, 

While  Christian  rulers,  recreant,  sup- 
port 

The  pagan  honors  of  thy  bloody  court, 

And  '•  Freedom's  champions"  spurn 
their  hallowed  trust, 

Kneel  at  thy  nod,  and  basely  lick  the 
dust. 

Degraded  Congress!  once  the  hon- 
ored scene 

Of  patriotic  deeds;  where  men  of  sol- 
emn mien, 

In  virtue  i^trong,  in  understanding 
cle  ir, 

Earnest,  though  courteous,  and,  though 
smooih,  sincere. 

To  gravest  counsels  lent  the  teeming 
hours, 

And  gave  their  country  all  their  mighty 
powers. 

But  times  are  changed,  a  rude,  degen- 
erate r;ice 

Usurp  the  seats,  and  shame  the  sacred 
p'ace. 

Here  plotting  demagogues  with  zeal 
defend 

The  "  people's  rights,"  —  to  gain  some 
private  end. 

Here  Southern  youths,  on  Folly's  surges 
tost, 

Their  fathers'  wisdom  eloquently  boast. 

jSodowrless  spinsters  proudly  number 


The  costly  jewels  that  their  grandams 
wore.) 

Here  would-be  Tnllys  pompously  pa- 
rade 

Their  tumid  tropes  for  simple  "  Bun- 
combe" made,13 

Full  on  the  chair  the  chilling  torrent 
shower, 

And  work  their  word-pumps  through  the 
allotted  hour. 

Deluded  "Buncombe!"  while,  with 
honest  praise, 

She  notes  each  grand  and  patriotic 
phrase, 

And,  much  rejoicing  in  her  hopeful  spn, 

Deems  all  her  own  the  laurels  he  lias 
won, 

She  little  dreams  how  brother  members 
fled. 

And  left  the  house  as  vacant  as  his 
head  ! 

Here  rural  Chathams,  eager  to  attest 

The  "growing  greatness  of  the  mighty 
West," 

To  make  the  plainest  proposition  clear, 

Cr.ick  Prisciau's  head,  and  Mr.  Speak- 
er's ear ; 

Then,  closing  up  in  one  terrific  shout, 

Pour  all  their  "  wild-cats "  furiously 
out! 

Here  lawless  boors  with  ruffian  bullies 
vie, 

Who  last  shall  give  the  rude,  insulting 
"  lie," 

While  "  Order !  order !  "  loud  the  chair- 
man calls, 

And  echoing  "Order!"  every  member 
bawls ; 

Till  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 

And  higher  still  in  fierce  envenomed 
hate,'4 

Retorted  blows  the  scene  of  riot  crown, 

And  big  Lycurgus  knocks  the  lesser 
down  ! 

Ye  honest  dames  in  frequent  proverbs 

named, 

For  finest  fish  and  foulest  English  famed,  - 
Whose     match'e<s  tongues,    't  is  said, 

were-  never  heard 

To  speak  a  flattering  or  a  feeb'e  word,  — 
Here  all  your  choice  invective  ye  might 

urge 

Our  lawless  Solons  fittinglv  to  scourge; 
Here,    iti    congenial    company,    might 

Till,  quite  worn  out,  your  creaking 
voices  fail,  — 


PROGRESS. 


Unless,  indeed,  for  once  compelled  to 

yield 
In  wordy  strife,  ye  vanquished  quit  the 

field! 

Hail,  Social  Progress !  each  new  moon 
is  rife 

With  some  new  theory  of  social  life, 

Some  matchless  scheme  ingeniously  de- 
signed 

From  half  their  miseries  to  free  man- 
kind; 

On  human  wrongs  triumphant  war  to 
wage, 

And  bring  anew  the  glorious  golden  age. 

"  Association  "  is  the  magic  word 

From- many  a  social  "priest  and  proph- 
et "  heard, 

"  Attractive  Labor  "  is  the  angel  given, 

To  render  earth  a  sublunary  Heaven  ! 

"  Attractive  Labor  !  "  ring  the  changes 
round, 

And  labor  grows  attractive  in  the  sound ; 

And  many  a  youthful  mind,  where 
haply  lurk 

Unwelcomed  fancies  at  the  name  of 
"  work," 

Sees  pleasant  pastime  in  its  longing 
view 

Of  "  toil  made  easy  "  and  "  attractive  " 
too, 

And,  fancy-rapt,  with  joyful  ardor, 
turns 

Delightful  grindstones  and  seductive 
churns ! 

"  Men  are  not  bad,"  these  social  sages 
preach ; 

"  Men  are  not  what  their  actions  seem 
to  teach ; 

No  moral  ill  is  natural  or  fixed,  — 

Men  only  err  by  being  badly  mixed  !  " 

To  them  fie  world  a  huge  plnm-pud- 
ding  seems, 

Made  up  of  richest  viands,  fruits,  and 
creams, 

Which  of  all  choice  ingredients  par- 
took, 

And  then  was  ruined  bv  a  blundering 
cook! 

Inventive  France  !  what  wonder-work- 
ing schemes 

Astound  the  world  whene'er  a  French- 
man dreams 

What  fine-spun  theories,  —  ingenious, 
new, 

Sublime,  stupendous,  everything  but 
true! 


One  little  favor,  O  "  Imperial  France ! " 
Still  teach  the  world  to  cook,  to  dress, 

to  dance ; 
Let,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  boots  and  barbers 

roam, 
But  keep  thy  morals  and  thy  creeds  at 


home ! 


Omi 


r  flowing 


rhyme 


(Too  closely   cramped  by  unrelenting 

Time, 
Whose  dreadful  scythe  swings  heedlessly 

along, 
And,  missing  speeches,  clips  the  thread 

of  song), 
How  would  she  strive,  in  fitting  verse,  to 


Progress  of  the  Printing 


The  wo 


King! 


Bibles  and  Novels,  Treatises  and 
Songs, 

Lectures  on  "Rights,"  and  Strictures 
upon  Wrongs ; 

Verse  in  all  metres,  Travels  in  all 
climes, 

Rhymes  without  reason,  Sonnets  with- 
out rhymes ; 

"Translations  from  the  French,"  so 
vilely  done, 

The  wheat  escaping  leaves  the  chaff 
alone ; 

Memoirs,  where  dunces  steadily  essay 

To  cheat  Oblivion  of  her  certain  prey ; 

Critiques,  where  pedants  vauutingly  ex~ 
pose 

Unlicensed  verses  in  unlawful  prose  ; 

Lampoons,  whose  authors  strive  in  vain 
to  throw 

Their  headless  arrows  from  a  nerveless, 
bow ; 

Poems  by  youths,  who,  crossing  Nature's 
w'ill, 

Harangue  the  landscape  they  were  bora 
to  till; 

Huge  tomes  of  Law,  that  lead  by  rug- 
ged routes 

Throujrh  ancient  dogmas  down  to  mod- 
ern doubts ; 

Where  Judges  oft,  with  well-affected 
ease, 

Give  learned  reasons  for  absurd  de~ 
crees, 

Or,  more  ingenious  still,  contrive  to. 
found 

Some  just  decision  on  fallacious  ground, 

Or  blink  the  point,  and,  haply,  iu  it» 
place, 


210 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Moot  and  decide  some  hypothetic 
case; 

Smart  Epigrams,  all  sadly  out  of  joint, 

And  pointless,  —  save  the  "  exclamation 
point," 

Which  stands  in  state,  with  vacant  won- 
der fraught, 

The  pompous  tombstone  of  some  pauper 
thought ; 

Ingenious  systems  based  on  doubtful 
facts, " 

"  Tracts  for  the  Times,"  and  most  un- 
timelv  tracts ; 

Polemic  Pamphlet*,  Literary  Toys, 

And  Easy  Lessons  for  uneasy  boys  ; 


Hebdomadal 
News, 


Gazettes,      and      Daily 


Gay  Magazines,  and  Quarterly  Re- 
views :  — 

Small  portion  these,  of  all  the  vast  ar- 
ray 

Of  darkened  leaves  that  cloud  each  pass- 
ing day, 

And  pour  their  tide  unceasingly  alonsr, 

A  gathering,  swelling,  overwhelming 
throng ! 

Cease,  O  my  Muse,  nor,  indiscreet, 
prolong 

To  epic  length  thy  unambitious  song. 

Good  friends,  be  gentle  to  a  maiden 
Muse, 

Her  errors  pardon,  and  her  faults  ex- 
cuse. 

Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came,15 

To  sue  for  favor,  nor  to  seek  for 
fame. 

Be  this,  at  least,  her  just  though  humble 
praise : 

No  stale  excuses  heralded  her  lays, 

No  singer's  trick,  —  conveniently  to 
bring 

A  sudden  cough,  when  importuned  to 
sing;  is 

No  deprecating  phrases,  learned  by 
rote,  — 

"  She  'd  quite  forgot,"  or  "  never  knew 
a  note,"  — 

But  to  her  task,  with  ready  zeal,  ad- 
dressed 

Her  earnest  care,  and  aimed  to  do  her 
best ; 

Strove  to  be  just  in  each  satiric  word, 

To  doubtful  wit  undoubted  truth  pre- 
ferred, 

To  please  and  profit  equally  has  aimed, 

V.._      I Ml   _-, J _1 -I 


Nor 


^n    ill-natured    e'en 
blamed. 


hen    she 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


A  POEM  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  PHI 
BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY  OF  TALB 
COLLEGE,  1854. 

As  landsmen,  sitting  in  luxurious  ease, 
Talk  of  the  dangers  of  the  stormy  seas ; 
As  fireside  travelers,  with  portentous 

mien, 
Tell  tales  of  countries  they  have  never 

seen; 

As  parlor-soldiers,  graced  with  fancy- 
scars. 
Rehearse    their    bravery    in   imagined 

wars; 
As  arrant  dunces  have  been  known  to 

sit 
In  grave  discourse  of  wisdom  and  of 

wit; 
As    paupers,     gathered    in     congenial 

flocks, 

Babble  of  banks,  insurances,  and  stocks  ; 
As  each  is  oftenest  eloquent  of  what 
He    hates    or    covets,     but     possesses 

not;  — 
As  cowards  talk  of  pluck ;    misers,  of 

waste ; 
Scoundrels,  of  honor;  country  clowns, 

of  taste ;  — 

I  sing  of  MONEY  !  —  no  ignoble  theme, 
But  loftier  far  then  poetasters  dream, 
Whose  fancies,  soaring  to  their  native 

moon, 

Rise  like  a  bubble  or  a  gay  balloon, 
Whose  orb  aspiring  takes  a  heavenward 

flight, 
Just  in  proportion  as  it 's  thin  and  light ! 

Kings  must  have  Poets.  From  the  ear- 
liest times, 

Monarchs  have  loved  celebrity  in 
rhvmes ; 

From  good  King  Robert,  who,  in  Pe- 
trarch's days, 

Taught  to  mankind  the  proper  use  of 
bays, 

And,  singling  eut  the  prince  of  Son- 
neteers, 

Twined  wreaths  of  laurel  round  his 
blushing  ears ; 

Down  to  the  Queen,  who,  to  her  chosea 
bard, 

In  annual  token  of  her  kind  regard, 

Sends  not  alone  the  old  poetic  greens, 

But,   like  a  woman    and   the   best  of 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


211 


Adds  to  the  leaves,  to  keep  them  fresh 
and  fine, 

The  wholesome  moisture  of  a  pipe 
of  wine  !  — 

So  may  her  minstrel,  crowned  with 
royal  bays, 

Alternate  praise  her  pipe  and  pipe  her 
praise ! 

E'en  let  him  chant  his  smooth,  eu- 
phonious lays : 

A  loftier  theme  my  humbler  Muse  es- 
says; 

A  mightier  monarch  be  it  hers  to  sing, 

And  claim  her  laurel  from  the  Money- 
King  ! 

Great  was  King  Alfred ;  and  if  history 

state 

His  actions  truly,  good  as  well  as  great. 
Great  was  the  Norman  ;  he  whose  mar" 

tial  hordes 
Taught  law   aud   order   to   the  Saxon 

lords, 
With   gentler    thoughts    their    rugged 

minds  imbued, 
And  raised  the   nation   whom  he  first 

subdued. 
Great  was  King  Bess !  —  I  see  the  critic 

smile, 
As  though  the  Muse  mistook  her  proper 

style; 
But    to  her  purpose  she    will   stoutly 

cling, 
The   roval   maid    was    "  every   inch   a 

King!" 
Great   was   Napoleon,  —  and    I    would 

that  fate 
Might  prove  his  namesake-nephew  half 

as  great ; 

Meanwhile   this  hint  I  venture   to  ad- 
vance :  — 
What  France  admires  is  good  enough 

for  France ! 
Great  princes  were  the)1  all ;  but  greater 

Than  English  King,  or  mightv  Russian 

Czar, 
Or  Pope  of  Rome,  or  haughty  Queen  of 

of  Spain, 

Baron  of  Germany,  or  Royal  Dane, 
Or  Gallic  Empero'r,  or  Persian  Khan, 
Or  any  other  merely  mortal  man, 
Is  the   great   monarch   that  my    Muse 

would  sing, 

That  mightv  potentate,  the  Money- 
King! 

His  kingdom  vast  extends  o'er  even- 
land. 


And  nations  bow  before  his  high  com- 
mand, 

The  weakest  tremble,  and  his  power 
obey, 

The  strongest  honor,  and  confess  his 
sway. 

He  rules  the  Rulers  !  —  e'en  the  tyrant 
Czar 

Asks  his  permission  ere  he  goes  to  war ; 

The  Turk,  submissive  to  his  royal 
might, 

By  his  decree  has  gracious  leave  to 
fight; 

Whilst  e'en  Britannia  makes  her  hum- 
blest bow 

Before  her  Barings,  not  her  Barons 
now, 

Or  on  the  Rothschild  snppliamly  calls 

( Her  affluent  "  uncle  "  with  the  golden 
balls), 

Begs  of  the  Jew  that  he  will  kindly 
spare 

Enough  to  put  her  trident  in  repair, 

Aud  pawns  her  diamonds,  while  she 
humbly  craves 

The  Money- King's  consent  to  "  rule  the 
waves ! " 

He  wears  no  crown  upon  his  royal  head, 
But  many  millions  in  his  purse,  instead  ; 
He  keeps  no  halls  of  state;  but  holds 

his  court 
In  dingy  rooms  where  greed  and  thrift 

resort ; 
In  iron  chests  his  wondrous  wealth  he 

hoards ; 
Banks  are  his  parlors ;  brokers  are  his 

lords, 
Bonds,  bills,  and  mortgages,  his  favorite 

books, 
Gold  is   his  food,  and  coiners  are  his 

cooks; 
Ledgers  his  records;  stock  reports  his 

news; 

Merchants  his  yeomen,  and  his  bonds- 
men Jews ; 
Kings  are  his  subjects,  gamblers  are  his 

knaves, 
Spendthrifts  his  fools,  and  misers  are  his 

slaves ! 
The   good,   the   bad,  his   golden   favor 

prize ; 
The  high,  the  low,  the  simple,  aud  the 

wise, 
The  young  the  old,  the  stately,  and  the 

gay,  — 

All  bow  obedient  to  his  royal  sway ! 
See  where,  afar,  the  bright  Pacific  shore 


212 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Gleams  in  the  sun  with  sands  of  shining 

ore, 

His  last,  great  empire  rises  to  the  view, 
Aud  shames  the  wealth  of  India  and 

Peru! 
Here,     throned    within     his     gorgeous 

"golden  gate," 
He  wields   his   sceptre   o'er   the  rising 

State  ; 

Surveys  his  conquest  with  a  joyful  eye, 
Nor  for  a  greater  heaves  a  single  sigh  ! 
Here,  quite  beyond  the  classic  poet's 

dream, 

Pactolus  runs  in  every  winding  stream  ; 
The  mountain  cliffs  the  glittering  ore 

enfold, 
And   everv  reed  that   rustles   whispers, 

"  Gold  !  " 

If  to  his  sceptre  some  dishonor  clings, 

Why  should  we  marvel?  —  'tis  the  fate 
of  kings ! 

Their  power  too  oft  perverted  by  abuse, 

Their  manners  cruel,  or  their  morals 
loose ; 

The  be~t  at  times  have  wandered  far 
astray 

From  simple  Virtue's  unsednctive  way  ; 

And  few.  of  all,  at  once  could  make  pre- 
tense 

To  royal  robes  and  rustic  innocence  ! 

lie   builds  the  house  where   Christian 

people  pray, 

And  rears  a  bagnio  just  across  the  way ; 
Pays  to  the  priest  his  stinted  annual 

fee; 

Rewards  the  lawyer  for  his  venal  plea  ; 
Sends  an  apostle  to  the  heathen's  aid ; 
And  cheats  the  Choctaws,  for  the  good 

of  trade ; 

L:fts  by  her  heels  an  Ellsler  to  renown, 
Or,  bribing  "  Jenny,"  brings  an  angel 

down  ! 
He  Imilds  the  Theatres  and  gambling 

Halls, 
Lloyds  and  Al  macks,  St.  Peter's  and  St. 

Paul's; 
Sin's  gay  retreats  and  Fashion's  gilded 

rooms, 
Hotels     and     Factories,     Palaces    and 

Tombs  ; 
Bids  Commerce  spread    her  wings  to 

every  gale ; 
Bends  to  the  breeze  the  pirate's  bloody 

sail ; 
Helps  Science  seek  new  worlds  among 

the  stars  ; 


Profanes    our    own    with     mercenary 

wars ; 
The  friend  of  wrong,  the  equal  friend 

of  right, 
Oft  may  we  bless  and  oft  deplore  his 

might, 
As   buoyant   hope   or    darkening    fears 

prevail, 
And  good  or  evil  turns  the  moral  scale. 

All  fitting  honor  I  would  fain  accord, 

Whene'er   he    builds   a   temple   to   the 
Lord; 

But  much  I  grieve  he  often  spends  his 
pelf, 

As  it  were  raised  in  honor  of  himself; 

Or,   what  were  worse,  and    more   pro- 
fanely odd, 

A  place  to  worship  some  Egyptian  god  ! 

I    wish    his    favorite     architects    were 
graced 

With  sounder  judgment,  and  a  Chris- 
tian taste. 

Immortal   Wren !    what    fierce,   con- 
vulsive shocks 

Would  jar  thy  bones  within  their  leaden 
box, 

Couldst  thou  but  look  across  the  briny 
spray, 

And  see  some  churches  of  the   present 
day  !  — 

The  lofty  dome  of  consecrated  bricks, 

Where  all   the    "orders"  in  disorder 
mix, 

To  form  a  temple  whose   incongruous 
frame 

Confounds  design  and  puts  the  Arts  to 
shame ! 

Where  "  styles  "  discordant  on  the  vision 
jar, 

Where  Greek  and  Roman  are  again  at 
war, 

And,  as  of  old,  the  unrelenting  Goth 

Comes   down   at   last   and   overwhelms 
them  both ! 

Once  on  a  time  I  heard  a  parson  say 
(Talking   of    churches    in   a  sprightly 

way), 
That  there  was  more   Religion   in  the 

walls 
Of  towering  "  Trinity,"  or  grand  "  St. 

Paul's," 
Than  one  could  find,  upon  the  strictest 

search, 
In  half  the  saints  within  the  Christian 

Church  ! 
A  layman  sitting  at  the  parson's  side 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


213 


To  the   new  dogma  thus   at  once  re- 
plied : 

"  If,  as  you  say,  Religion  has  her  home 

In  the  mere  walls  that  form  the  sacred 
dome, 

It  seems  to  me  the  verv  plainest  case. 

To  climb  the  steeple  were  a  growth  in 
grace  ; 

And   he  to  whom  the  pious   strength 
were  given 

To  reach  the  highest  were  the  nearest  ! 
Heave, 


Or  tin'--?,  Hoboken,  in  the  longest  day! 
Time  was  when  men  bereaved  of  vital 

b  eath 
Were  calm  and  silent  in  the  realms  of- 

Death; 
When   mortals  dead   and  decently  in- 

urned 
Were  heard  no  more ;  no  traveler  re- 

turned, 
Who  once  had  crossed  the  dark  Pluto- 

nian  strand, 
j  To  whisper  secrets  of  the  spirit-land,  — 


I  thought  the  answer  just ;  and  yet  't  is  <  Save  when  perchance  some  sad,  unquiet 

clear 
A  solemn  aspect,  grand  and  yet  severe, 


Becomes  i  he  house  of  God.     'T  is  hard 

to  say 
Who  from  "the  proper  mark  are  most 

astray,  — 

They  who  erect,  for  holy  Christian  rites, 
A  gay  Paired  a  with  its  tinsel  lights, 
Or  they  who  offer  to  the  God  of  Love 
A  gorgeous  Temple  of  the  pagan  Jove ! 

Immortal  Homer  and  Tas«oni  sing 
What  vast   results  from  trivial  causes 

spring ; 

How  naughty  Helen  by  her  stolen  joy 
Brought  woe  and  ruin  to  unhappy  Troy  ; 
How,  for  a  bucket,  rash  Bologna  sold" 
More  blood  and  tears  than  twenty  such 

could  hold ! 
T>hv  power,  O  Monev,  shows  results  as  i 

strange 


ml 

Among  the  tombs  might  wander  on  pa- 
role, — 

A  well-bred  ghost,  at  night's  bewitching 
noon, 

Returned  to  catch  some  glimpses  of  the 
moon, 

Wrapt  in  a  mantle  of  unearthly  white 

(The  only  'rapping  of  an  ancient  sprite), 

Stalked  round  in  silence  till  the  break 
of  day, 

Then  from  the  Earth  passed  unperceived 

away. 

Now  all  is  changed  ;  the  musty  maxim 
fails, 

And  dead  men  do  repeat  the  queerest 
tales ! 

Alas,  that  here,  as  in  the  books,  we  see 

The  travelers   clash,  the  doctors  disa- 
gree ! 

Alas,  that  nil,  the  farther  they  explore, 


As  aught  revealed  in  History's  widest  !  For  all  their  search  are  but  confused 

range ; 

Thy  smallest  coin  of  shining  silver  shows 
More    potent    magic    than   a  conjurer 

knows ! 
In  olden  times,  — if  classic  poets  say 


The  simple  truth,  as  poets  do  to-day,  — 
When  Charon's  boat  conveyed  a  spirit 

o'er 

The  Lethean  water  to  the  Hadean  shore, 
The  fare  was  just  a  penny,  —  not  too 

great, 
The  moderate,  regular,  Stygian  statute 

rate. 
Now,  for  a  shilling,  he  will  cross  the 

stream, 
(His  paddles  whirling  to  the  force  of 

s 'earn !) 
And   bring,   obedient   to  some   wizard 

power, 
Back  to  the  Earth  more  spirits  in  an 

hour 
Than    Brooklvn's  famous   ferry   could 

convey, 


the 

Ye  great  departed  !  —  men  of  mighty 
mark,  — 

Bacon    and     Newton,    Adams,    Adam 
Clarke, 

Edwards  and  Whitefield,  Franklin,  Rob- 
ert Hall, 

Calhonn,  Clay,  Channing,  Daniel  Web- 
ster, —  all 

Ye  great   quit-tenants  of   this  earthlv 
ball,  - 

If  in  your  new  abodes  ye  cannot  rest, 

But  must  return,  O,  grant  us  this  re- 
quest : 

Come  with  a  noble  and  celestial  air, 

To  prove  your  title  to   the  names  ye 
bear ! 

Give  some  clear  token  of  your  heavenly 
birth, 

Write  a<  good  Enelish  as  ye  wrote  on 
earth  ! 

Show  not  to  all,  in  ranting  pro^e  and 
verse. 


214 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


The  spirit's  progress  is  from  bad  to 
worse ; 

And,  what  were  ouce  superfluous  to  ad- 
vise, 

Don't  tell,  I  beg  you,  such  egregious 
lies : 

Or  if  perchance  your  ag<  nt*  are  to  blame, 

Don't  let  them  trifle  with  your  honest 
fame  ; 

Let  chairs  and  tables  rest,  and  "  rap  " 
instead, 

Ay,  "  knock  "  your  slippery  "  Medi- 
ums "  on  the  head  ! 

What  direful  woes  the  hapless  man  at- 
tend, 
Who  in  the  means  sees  life's  supremest 

end  ; 
The  wretched  miser,  —  money's  sordid 

slave,  — 

His  only  jov  to  gather  and  to  save. 
For  this  he  wakes  at  morning's  early 

light, 
Toils  through  the  dav,  and  ponders  in 

the  night ; 
For  this,  —  to  swell  his  heap  of  tarnished 

gold.— 
Sweats  in  the  sun,  and  shivers  in  the 

cold, 
And  suffers  more  from  hunger  every 

day 
Than    the    starved    beggar    whom    he 

spurns  away. 
Death  comes  erewhile  to  end  his  worldly 

strife  ; 

With  all  his  saving  he  must  lose  his  life  ! 
Perchance  the  doctor  might  protract  his 

breath, 
And    stay   the  dreadful    messenger  of 

death ; 

But  none  is  there  to  comfort  or  advise  ; 
T  would  cost  a  dollar  ;  — so  the  miser 

dies. 

Sad  is  the  sight  when  Money's  power 

controls 
In  wedlock's  chains  the  fate  of  human 

souls. 
From  mine  to  mint,  curst  is  the   coin 

that  parts 
In    helpless    grief  two  loving    human 

hearts  ; 

Or  joins  in  discord,  jealonsv,  and  hate, 
A  sordid  suitor  to  a  loathing  mate. 
I  waive  the  case,  the  barren  case,  of 

those 
Who  have  no  hearts  to  cherish  or  to 

lose; 


Whose  wedded  state  is  but  a  bargain 
made 

In  due  accordance  with  the  laws  of  trade 

When  the  prim  parson  joins  their  willing 
hands, 

To  marry  City  lots  to  Western  lands, 

Or  in  connubial  ecstasy  to  mix 

Cash  and  "  collateral, "  ten-per-cents 
with  six, 

And  in  the  "  patent  safe  "  of  Hymen 
locks 

Impassioned  dollars  with  enamoured 
stocks, 

Laugh  if  you  will,  —  and  who  can  well 
refrain  ?  — 

But  waste  no  tears,  nor  pangs  of  pity- 
ing pain ; 

Hearts  such  as  these  may  play  the 
queerest  pranks, 

But  never  break,  —  except'with  break- 
ing banks. 

Yet,  let  me  hint,  a  thousand  maxims 

prove 

Plutus  may  be  the  truest  friend  to  Love. 
"  Love  in  a  cottage  "  cosily  may  dwell, 
But  much  prefers  to  have  it  furnished 

well. 

A  parlor  ample,  and  a  kitchen  snug, 
A    handsome    carpet,   an   embroidered 

rug, 

A  well-stored  pantry,  and  a  tidy  maid, 
A   blazing   hearth,  a   cooling  window- 
shade, 

Though    merely     mortal,     money-pur- 
chased things, 
Have   wondrous   power  to  clip   Love's 

errant  winjjs  ! 
"  Love  in  a  cottage  "  is  n't  just  the 

same 
When  wind  and  water  strive  to  quench 

his  flame  ; 

Too  oft  it  breeds  the  sharpest  discontent, 
That  puzzling  question,  "  How  to  pay 

the  rent ;  " 

A  smoky  chimney  may  alone  suffice 
To   dim  the  radiance  of   the    fondest 

eyes ; 
A  northern  blast,  beyond  the  slightest 

doubt, 
May  fairly  blow  the  torch  of   Hymen 

out"; 

And  I  have  heard  a  worthy  patron  hold 
(As  one  who  knew  the  truth  of  what 

she  told), 
Love  once   was  drowned,  though  reck 

oned  waterproof, 
By  the  mere  dripping  of  a  leaky  roof ! 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


215 


Full    many   a   wise    philosopher  has 

tried 

Mankind  in  fitting  orders  to  divide  ; 
And   by  their  forms,  their  fashions,  and 

their  face, 

To  group,  assort,  and  classify  the  race. 
One  would  distinguish  people  bv  their 

hooks ; 

Another,  quaintly,  solely  by  their  cooks  ; 
And   one,   who  graced" the    philosophic 

bench, 
Found  these  three  classes,  —  "women, 

men,  and  French! " 
The  best   remains,  of  all  that  I  have 

known. 
A  broad  distinction,  brilliant,  and  my 

own  : 

Of  all  mankind,  I  classify  the  lot, 
Those  who  have  Money,  and  those  who 

have  not ! 

Think'st  thou  the  line  a  poet's  fiction  ? 

—  then 

Go  look  abroad  upon  the  ways  of  men  ! 
Go  as"k  the   banker,    with    his  golden 

seals; 
Go  ask  the   borrower,   cringing  at  his 

heels ; 

Go  ask  the  maid,  who,  emulous  of  woe, 
Discards  the  worthier  for  the  wealthier 

beau ; 

Go  ask  the  parson,  when  a  higher  prize 
Points  with  the  salary   where   his  duty 

lies  ; 

Go  ask  the  lawyer,  who,  in  le<r)l  smoke, 
Stands,    like     a     stoker,    redolent     of 

"Coke," 
And  swings  his  arms  to  emphasize  a 

plea 

Made  donblv  ardent  by  a  golden  fee  ; 
Go   ask   the   doctor,  "who    has    kindly 

sped 

Old  Croesus,  dying  on  a  damask  bed, 
While   his   poor  neighbor  —  wonderful 

to  tell  — 
Was  left  to  Nature,  suffered,  and  got 

well ! 

Go  ask  the  belle,  in  high  patrician  pride, 
Who  spurns  the  maiden  nurtured  at  her 

side. 

Her  youth's  loved  playmate  at  the  vil- 
lage school, 
Ere  changing  fortune  taught  the  rigid 

rule 
Which    marks    the     loftier    from    the 

lowlier  lot,  — 
Those  who  have  money  from  tho«e  who 

have  not ! 


Of  all  the  ills  that  owe  their  baneful 

rise 
To  wealth  o'ergrown,  the  most  despotic 

vice 

Is  Circean  Luxury  ;  prolific  dame 
Of  mental  impotence  and  moral  shame, 
And   all   the   cankering  evils  that  de- 

base 
The  human  form  and  dwarf  the  human 

race. 
See  yon  strange  figure,  and  a  moment 

scan 
That  slenderest   sample  of  the  genus 

man  ! 
Mark,  as  he  ambles,   those  precarious 

pegs 
Which  by  their  motion  must  be  deemed 

his  legs  ! 
He  has  a  head,  —  one  may  be  sure  of 

that 
By  just  observing  that  he  wears  a  hat  ; 


That  he  has  arms  is  logically  plain 
From  his  wide  coat-sleeves  a 
dent  cane  ; 


pan 
nd  his 


pen- 


A  tongue  as   well,  —  the   inference   is 

fair, 
Since,   on    occasion,   he    can    lisp   and 

swear. 
You  ask  his  use  ?  —  that  's  not  so  verv 

dear, 
Unle-s  to  spend  five  thousand  pounds  a 

year 

In  modish  vices  which  his  soul  adores, 
Drink,     dress,     and     gaming,     horses, 

hounds,  and  scores 

Of  other  follies  which  I  can't  rehearse, 
Dear  to  himself  and  dearer  to  his  purse. 

No  product  he  of  Fortune's  fickle  dice, 
The  due  result  of  Luxury  and  Vice, 
Three     generations    have     sufficed    to 

bring 
That    narrow  chested,    pale,     enervate 

thing 
Down  from  a  man,  —  for,  marvel  as  you 

will, 
His    huge    great-grandsire    fought    on 

Bunker  Hill  ! 
Bore,  without  gloves,  a  musket  through 

the  war  ; 
Came  back  adorned  with  nvmy  a  noble 

scar  ; 
Labored   and   prospered   at   a  thriving 

rate, 

And,  dying,  left  his  heir  a  snug  estate,  — 
Which'grew  apace  upon  his  busy  hands, 
Stocks,  ships,  and  factories,  tenements 

and  lands, 


216 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


All  here  at  last,  —  the  money  and  the 

race,  — 

The  latter  ending  in  that  foolish  face  ; 
The  former  wandering,  far  beyond  his 

aim, 
Back  to  the  rough  plebeians  whence  it 


Enough  of  censure  ;  let  my  humble 

lays 

Employ  one  moment  in  congenial  praise. 
Let  other  pens  with  pious  ardor  paint 
The  selfish   virtues   of    the    cloistered 


In  lettered  marble  let  the  stranger  read 
Of  him  who,  dying,  did  a  worthy  deed, 
And  left  to  charity  the  cherished  store 
Which,  to  his  sorrow,  he  could  hoard  no 

more. 

I  venerate  the  nobler  man  who  gives 
His  generous   dollars  while   the  donor 

lives  ; 
Gives   with   a  heart  as   liberal  as  the 

palms 
That  to  the  needy  spread  his  honored 

alms ; 
Gives  with  a  head  whose  yet  unclouded 

light 
To  worthiest  objects  points  the  giver's 

sight ; 

Gives  with  a  hand  still  potent  to  enforce 
His  well-aimed  bounty,  and   direct   its 

course ;  — 
Such  is  the  giver  who  must  stand  con- 

fest 

In  giving  glorious,  and  supremely  blest ! 
One  such   as   this   the   captious  world 

could  find 

In  noble  Perkins,  angel  of  the  blind ; 
Oue  such  as  this  in  princely  Lawrence 

shone, 
Ere  heavenly  kindred  claimed  him  for 

their  own! 

To  me  the  boon  may  gracious  Heaven 


No   cringing 
shrine, 


ippliant    at  Mammon's 


Nor  slave  of  Poverty,  —  with  joy   to 

share 
The  happy  mean  expressed  in  Agur's 

prayer :  — 


A  house  (my  own)  to  keep  me  safe  and 
warm, 

A  shade  in  sunshine,  and  a  shield  in 
storm ; 

A  generous  board,  and  fitting  raiment, 
clear 

Of  debts  and  duns  throughout  the  cir- 
cling year ; 

Silver  and  gold,  in  moderate  store,  that  I 

May  purchase  joys  that  only  these  can 
buy; 

Some  gems  of  art,  a  cultured  mind  to 
please, 

Books,  pictures,  statues,  literary  ease. 

Tha  "  Time  is  money  "  prudent  Frank- 
lin shows 

In  rhyming  couplets  and  sententious 
prose. 

Oh,  had  he  taught  the  world,  in  prose 
and  rhyme, 

The  higher  truth  that  Money  may  be 
Time ! 

And  showed  the  people,  in  his  pleasant 
ways, 

The  art  of  coining  dollars  into  days ! 

Days  for  improvement,  days  for  social 
life, 

Days  for  your  God,  your  children,  and 
your  wife ; 

Some  days  for  pleasure,  and  an  hour  to 
spend 

In  genial  converse  with  an  honest  friend. 

Such  days  be  mine !  —  and  grant  me, 
Heaven,  but  this, 

With  blooming  health,  man's  highest 
earthly  bliss,  — 

And  I  will  read,  without  a  sigh  or 
frown, 

The  startling  news  that  stocks  are  going 
down ; 

Hear  without  envy  that  a  stranger 
hoards 

Or  spends  more  treasure  than  a  mint 
affords ; 

See  my  next  neighbor  pluck  a  golden 
plum, 

Calm  and  content  within  my  cottage- 
home  ; 

Take  for  myself  what  honest  thrift  may 
bring, 

And  for  his  kindness  bless  the  Money- 
King! 


THE  GOOD  TIME  COMING. 


217 


EXCERPTS  FROM  OCCASIONAL  POEMS. 


EL  DORADO. 

LET  others,  dazzled  by  the  shining  ore, 

Delve  in  the  dirt  to  gather  golden 
store. 

Lot  others,  patient  of  the  menial  toil 

And  daily  suffering,  seek  the  precious 
spoil ; 

No  hero  I,  in  such  a  cause  to  brave 

Hunger  and  pain,  the  robber  and  the 
grave. 

I  '11  work,  instead,  exempt  from  hate 
and  harm, 

The  fruitful  "  placers  "  of  my  mountain- 
farm, 

Where  the  bright  ploughshare  opens 
richest  veins, 

From  whence  shall  issue  countless  golden 
grains, 

Which  in  the  fullness  of  the  year  shall 
come, 

In  bounteous  sheaves,  to  bless  my  har- 
vest-home ! 

But,  haply,  good  may  come  of  mining 

yet: " 
'T  will  help  to  pay  the  nation's  foreign 

_  debt; 
'T  will  further  liberal  arts ;  plate  rings 

and  pins, 
Gild  books  and  coaches,  mirrors,  signs, 

and  sins ; 
T  will  cheapen  pens  and  pencils,  and 

perchance 

May  give  us  honest  dealing  for  Finance  ! 
(That   magic  art,    unknown   to  darker 

times, 

When   fraud   and    falsehood   were    re- 
puted crimes, 
Whose  curious  laws  with  nice  precision 

teach 
How  whole  estates  are  made  from  parts 

of  speech ; 
How  lying  rags  for  honest   coin  shall 

pnss, 
And   foreign   gold   be    paid    in    native 


'T  will  save,  perhaps,  each  deep-indebted 

State 

From  all  temptation  to  "  repudiate," 
Till  Time  restore  our  precious  credit 

lost, 
And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymley's 

ghost!" 


THE  GOOD  TIME  COMING. 

WHILE  drones  and  dreaming  optimists 
protest, 

"  The  worst  is  well,  and  all  is  for  the 
best ; " 

And  sturdy  croakers  chant  the  counter 
song, 

That  "  man  grows  worse,  and  everything 
is  wrong ;  " 

Truth,  as  of  old,  still  loves  a  golden 
mean, 

And  shuns  extremes  to  walk  erect  be- 
tween ! 

The  world  improves;  with  slow,  un- 
equal pace, 

"  The  Good  Time 's  coming  "  to  our  hap- 
less race. 

The  general  tide  beneath  the  refluent 
surge 

Rolls  on,  resistless,  to  its  destined  verge ! 

Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  inter-pose  18 

As  stubborn  walls  to  geographic  foes, 

Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to  divide 

The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  either 
side. 

Promethean  Science,  with  untiring  eye 

Searching  the  mysteries  of  the  earth 
and  sky ; 

And  cunning  Art,  with  strong  and  plas- 
tic hand 

To  work  the  marvels  Science  may  com- 
mand ; 

And  broad-winged  Commerce,  swift  to 
carry  o'er 

Earth's  countless  blessings  to  her  far- 
thest shore,  — 


218 


THE  LIBRARY. 


These,  and   no   Germim   nor   Genevan 

sage, 
These  are  the  great  reformers  of  the 

age! 

See  Art,  exultant  in  her  stately  car, 
On  Nature's    Titans  wage   triumphant 

war ! 

While  e'en  the  Lightnings  by  her  won- 
drous skill 
Are  tamt'd  for  heralds  of  her  sovereign 

will! 

Old  Ocean's  breast  a  new  invader  feels, 
And   heaves   in   vain   to   clog  her  iron 

wheels ; 
In  vain   the  Forests  marshal   all  their 

force, 
And  Mountains  rise  to  stay  her  onward 

course : 
From  out  her  path  each  bold  opposer 

hurled, 
She  throws  her  girdle  round  a  captive 

world ! 


THE  POWER-PRESS. 

STRANGE  is   the  sound  when  first  the 

notes  begin 

Where  human  voices  blend   with  Vul- 
can's din ; 
The  click,  the  clank,  the  clangor,  and 

the  sound 

Of  rattling  rollers  in  their  rapid  round ; 
The  whizzing  belt,    the   sharp  metallic 

jar, 
Like  clashing  spears  in  fierce  chivalric 

war; 
The  whispering  birth  of  myriad  flying 

leaves, 
Gathered,   anon,    in    countless    motley 

sheaves, 
Then  scattered  far,  as  on  the  winged 

wind, 
The  mortal    nurture  of  th'  immortal 

mind! 


THE  LIBRARY. 

HERB,  e'en  the   sturdy  democrat  may 

find, 
Nor  scorn  their  rank,  the  nobles  of  the 

mind  ; 
While  kings   may  learn,  nor  blush  at 

being  shown, 


How  Learning's  patents  abrogate  their 

own. 

A  goodly  company  and  fair  to  see  : 
Royal  plebeians  ;  earls  of  low  degree  ; 
Beggars  whose   wealth    enriches  every 

clime  ; 
Princes  who  scarce  can  boast  a  mental 

dime, 
Crowd  here  together,  like  the  quaint  ar- 

ray 
Of   jostling    neighbors    on    a    market 

day  : 
Homer  and  Milton,  —  can  we  call  them 

blind  ?  — 

Of  godlike  sight,  the  vision  of  the  mind  ; 
Shakespeare,  who  calmly  looked  crea- 

tion through, 
"  Exhausted  worlds,  and  then  imagined 

new  ;  " 
Plato    the  sage,  so  thoughtful  and  se- 

rene, 
He   seems  a  prophet   by  his   heavenly 

mien  ; 
Shrewd     Socrates,    whose    philosophic 

power 
Xantipj>e    proved    in    many   a    trying 

hour; 

And  Aristophanes,  whose  humor  run 
In   vain   endeavor   to    be-"  cloud  "   the 

sun  ;  w 

Majestic  ^Eschylus,  whose  glowing  page 
Holds  half  the  grandeur  of  the  Athenian 

stage  ; 
Pindar,  whose  odes,  replete  with  heav- 

enly fire, 
Proclaim   the    master   of  the   Grecian 

lyre; 
Anacreon,  famed  for  many   a  luscious 

line 

Devote  to  Venus  and  the  god  of  wine. 
I  love   vast   libraries  ;    yet  there  is  a 

doubt 
If  one  be  better  with  them  or  with- 

out, — 

Unless  he  use  them  wisely,  and,  indeed, 
Knows  the  high  art  of  what  and  how  to 

read. 
At   Learning's  fountain    it  is  sweet  to 

drink, 

But  't  is  a  nobler  privilege  to  think  ; 
And  oft,  from  books  apart,  the  thirst- 
mind 
the  nectar  which  it  cannot 


May 


ng 

make 
find. 


'T  is  well  to  borrow  from  the  good  and 

great  ; 
'T  is  wise  to  learn  ;  't  is  godlike  to  ere- 


THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM. 


219 


TEE  NEWS. 

THE  News,  indeed  !  —  pray  do  you  call 

it  news 
When  shallow  noddles  publish  shallow 

views  1 
Pray,  is  it  news  that  turnips  should  be 

bred 
As    large    and    hollow  as  the  owner's 

head? 

News,  that  a  clerk  should  rob  his  mas- 
ter's hoard, 
Whose  meagre  salary  scarcely  pays  his 

board? 
Neirs,  that  two  knaves,  their  spurious 

friendship  o'er, 

Should  tell  the  truths  which  they  con- 
cealed before  ? 

Neu-s,  that  a  maniac,  weary  of  his  life, 
Should  end  his  sorrows  with  a  rope  or 

knife  1 
News,    that   a  wife  should    violate    the 

vows 
That   bind    her,   loveless,   to  a  tyrant 

spouse  ? 
News,  that  a  daughter  cheats  paternal 

rule, 
And   weds    a    scoundrel    to    escape    a 

fool  ?  — 
The  news,  indeed  !  —  Such  matters  are 

as  old 
As  sin  and  folly,   rust   and   must  and 

mould ! 


THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM. 

SCENE,  —  a  third  story  in  a  dismal 
court, 

Where  weary  printers  just  at  eight  re- 
sort; 

A  dingy  door  that  with  a  rattle  shnts  ; 

Heaps  of  "  exchanges,"  much  adorned 


Pens,  paste,  and  pnper  on  the  table 
strewed ; 

Books,  to  be  read  when  they  have  been 
reviewed ; 

Pamphlets  and  tracts  so  very  dull  in- 
deed 

That  only  they  who  wrote  them  e'er 
will  read ; 

Nine  letters,  touching  themes  of  every 
sort, 

And  one  with  money, — just  a  shilling 
short,  — 


Lie   scattered   round   upon   a  common 

level. 
PERSONS,  —  the  Editor ;  Enter,  now,  the 

Devil:  — 
"  Please,  Sir,  since  this  'ere  article  wan 

wrote, 
There  's  later  news  perhaps  you  'd  like 

to  quote  : 
The   Rebels   siorming  with  prodigious 

force, 
' Snmter  has  fallen  ! '"     "  Set  it  up,  of 

course." 
"And,     Sir,    that    murder's     done  — 

there's  only  left 
One  larceny."     "'Prav  don't  omit  the 

theft"." 

"And,  Sir,  about  the  mob  —  the   mat- 
ter 's  fat "  — 
"  The     mob  ?  —  that 's     wrong  —  pray 

just  distribute  that." 
Exit  the  imp  of  Faust,  and  enter  now 
A    fierce    subscriber    with   a  scowling 

brow, 
"  Sir,    curse  your    paper !  —  send    the 

thing  to  "—Well, 
The  place   he  names  were  impolite  to 

tell; 

Enough  to  know  the  hero  of  the  Press 
Cries :   "  Thomas,  change    the    gentle- 
man's address ! 
We  '11  send   the  paper,  if  the  post  will 

let  it, 
Where  the  subscriber  will  be  sure  to  get 

it!" 

Who  would  not  be   an  editor?  — To 

write 
The   magic    "we"  of  such  enormous 

might ; 
To   be  so  great  beyond    the  common 

span 

It  takes  the  plural  to  express  the  man  ; 
And  yet,  alas,  it  happens  oftentimps 
A  unit  serves  to  number  all  his  dimes  ! 
But    don't    despise    him ;     there    may 

chance  to  be 
An    earthquake  lurking   in  his   simple 

"  we  " ! 

In  the  close  precints  of  a  dusty  room 
That    owes    few    losses    to   the    lazy 

broom, 
There  sits  the  man ;  you  do  not  know 

his  name, 
Brown,  Jones,  or  Johnson,  —  it  is  all 

the  same,  — 
Scribbling  away  at  what  perchance  may 

seem 
An  idler's  musing,  or  a  dreamer's  dream; 


THE   ORIGIN  OF  LOVE. 


His  pen  runs  rambling,  like  a  straying 

steed  ; 
The  "  we  "  he  writes  seems  very  "  wee  " 

indeed ; 
But    mark     the    change ;    behold    the 

wondrous  power 
Wrought  by  the  Press  in  one  eventful 

hour ; 
To-night,  't  is  harmless    as  a  maiden's 

rhymes ; 
To-morrow,  thunder  in  the   "London 

Times ! " 


The   ministry  dissolves    that   held  fo 

years; 
Her  Grace,  the  Duchess,  is  dissolved  ir 

tears ; 
The  Rothschilds  quail ;  the  church,  th< 

army,  quakes ; 

The  very  kingdom  to  its  centre  shakes  . 
The  Corn  Laws  fall ;  the  price  of  breac 

comes  down,  — 
Thanks  to  the  "  we  "  of  Johnson,  Jones 

or  Brown ! 


TRANSLATIONS  AND   PARAPHRASES. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  LOVE. 


AN  ALLEGORY  FROM  THE  GREEK  OF 
PLATO. 


WHEN  Beauty  was  born,  a  magnificent 

fete 
Was  ordered  to  crown  the  auspicious 

event ; 
And  to  all  the  Olympians,  little   and 

great, 

And  many  besides,  invitations  were 
sent. 


In  the  various  throng  who  attended  the 

rout 
Was  Plenty  (of  Prudence  the  favorite 

son), 
A  rosy-cheeked  god,  who  went  strolling 

abont 

In  the  garden  of  Jove,  when  the  ban- 
quet was  done. 


Here,  falling  asleep  at  the  close  of  the 

day, 
Miss  Poverty  saw  him,  —  a  mendicant 

maid, 
Who  chanced  at  the  time  to  be  passing 

that  way, 

And  entered  the  garden  to  follow  her 
trade. 


How  the  damsel,  at  sight,  fell  in  love 

with  the  youth, 
It  is  easy  to  guess;  though  I  nevei 

could  learn, 
As  touching   another  more   wonderful 

truth, 

How  she  managed  to  waken  his  lovt 
in  return. 


But  so  it  befell ;  and  the  marriage  came 

off 

In  a  manner  not  quite  the  conven- 
tional thing  ; 
And    Virtue   will   scold,   and   Propriety 

scoff 

When  couples  forget  the   connubial 
ring. 


The  union  occasioned  no  little  surprise  ; 
And  gossip,  of  course,  was  exceeding- 
ly free 

With  merry  remark  and  sarcastic  sur- 
mise 

As  to  "  what  in  creation  the  offspring 
would  be." 

VII. 

But    Time,  the  Expositor,  settled  the 

doubt 

To  the  perfect  content  of  the  peopli 
above ; 


THE   TRAVELER  AND   THE  STATUE. 


221 


One  sunshiny  morning  the  secret  was 


ont ; 


The  baby  was  born,  and  who  was  it 
but  Love! 

VIII. 

As  the  urchin  grew  up,  it  was  plain  to 

be  seen 
He  shared  all  the  traits  both  of  mother 

and  sire : 

A  singular  mixture  of  noble  and  mean  ; 
A  deal  to  regret,  with  as  much  to  ad- 
mire. 


As    the    grandson    of     Prudence,    the 

younker  displayed 
A  turn  for  intrigue  and  a  masterful 

miud  ; 
While,  as  Pocerty's  son,  he  as  clearly  be- 

traved 

A  nature  to  fawuing  and  begging  in- 
clined. 


By  his  sire  he  is  courtly,  voluptuous, 

proud ; 
Abundant  in  hope  and  ambitious  in 

aim. 
By  his   mother,  submissive   and   easily 

cowed ; 

Suspicious,  mendacious,  and  fearful  of 
blame. 


THE     TRA'VELER     AND    THE 
STATUE. 

A    DIALOGUE. 

FROM  TBE  GREEK  OP  POSIDIPPUS. 

SCENE. 

A  MARKKT-PLACE  in  Athens,  where  are 

seen 

StatU'-s  of  god*  and  goddesses,  serene 
In  marble  maje-ty  Amonjr  the  rest, 
A  group  wherein  the  sculptor  has  ex- 

prest 

Some  tale,  or  moral  homily  where  these 
Symbolic  shapes  in  stone  the  observer 

#  es : 

A  human  fiirure  resting  on  a  wheel, 
With  win-re^  feet,  while  flowing  locks 

conceal 

The  eyes ;  and  yet  (to  make  the  gazer 
"stare!) 


The  head,  behind,  shows  not  a  tuft  of 

hair! 
Hard     by,     observe,     another     figure 

stands,  — 
A  maid,  who  seems  to  weep  and  wring 

her  hands. 

Enter  a.  Traveler  who,  gazing,  seeks 
The  Statue's  meaning.    Thus,  at  length, 

he  speaks :  — 


TRAVELER. 

Tell  me,  O  Image !  by  what  sculptor's 

grace 
Of  wondrous  art  thou  standest  in  this 

place  ? 


Of   Phidias  thou  hast  heard;    whose 

magic  hand 
Can  re-create  the  gods.     See  !  where 

they  stand, 

Jove,  Juno,  and  Minerva  !    He  alone 
Could   place    me   here  —  a  homily  in 

stone  — 
Among    the    immortals.     Yet   no   god 

am  I, 
Although  I  claim  close  kindred  with  the 


ug 
sky; 


My  name,  I  hear,  through  all  the  world 

has  flown  ; 
As  Opportunity  to  mortals  I  am  knowa< 


TRAVELER. 


Tell  me,  0  Image !  what  the  wheel  may 

mean, 
On  which,  as  a  support,  thou  seem'st  to 

lean. 


The  wheel    thou    seest,  if    thou  dost 

rightly  read 
The  pregnant  sign,  denotes  my  rapid 

speed. 


And  on  thy  feet  a  pair  of  wings  are- 

wroujrht; 
Tell  me  of  these  the  cunning  sculptor'* 

thought. 

STATUE. 

From  those  mv  brief  abiding  thou  may's* 

l<-ain;" 
Neglected  once,  I  nevermore  return. 


222 


THE  KING'S   GOBLET. 


TRAVELER. 

And  why  those  flowing  locks  that  hide 
thine  eyes  ? 

STATUE. 
Because  I'm  seldom  seen  save  in  disguise. 

TRAVELER. 

But  why  no  hair  behind? — tell  me,  I 
pray! 

8TATCE. 

That  none  may  seize  me  as  I  flee  away ! 

TRAVELER. 

A  nd  who  is  she  behind,  —  so  sad  of  mien  ? 

STATUE. 

Repentance    is   her  name ;    still   is  she 

seen 
To  follow  him,  the  wretch,  who  weakly 

fails 

To  seize  me  when  the  timely  hour  avails 
For  noble  action.     Thus  she  serves  to 

teach, 
"  Be  swift  to  seize  the  good  within  thy 

reach, 

Lest  it  be  lost  forever !  "     Ask  no  more ! 
E'en   while    I   speak,   away — away   I 

soar! 


THE  KING'S  GOBLET. 

PARAPHRASED   FROM  THE    GERMAN    OP 
SCHILLER. 


"  Ho !  every  gallant  knight  and  squire 
Attend !  "  exclaimed  the  king  ; 

"  This  Golden  Goblet  shall  be  his, 
Who  from  this  rock  will  spring, 

And  from  the  dark  nbyss  below 
The  cup  to  me  will  bring !  " 

ii. 
And  at  the  word,  from  where  he  stood 

Upon  the  rocky  steep, 
He  cast  the  Golden  Goblet  down 

Beneath  the  ocean  deep  ; 


Far  down  into  the  black  abyss 
Where  roaring  eddies  sweep. 


And  thrice  the  king  to  all  his  men 

The  proclamation  made ; 
But  all   were    mute :    nor   knight  nof 
squire 

The  fearful  feat  essayed  ; 
To  follow  where  the  cup  went  down, 

The  boldest  were  afraid. 


Now  while  in  silence  round  the  king 
They  stood  in  grim  array, 

Up  came  a  page  of  handsome  mien, 
A  gallant  youth  and  gay  ; 

And  straight  he  took  his  girdle  off, 
And  cast  his  cloak  away. 


And  while  they  praised  his  form 
face, 

And  marveled  what  he  meant, 
Far  out  upon  the  dizzy  cliff 

The  gallant  stripling  went ; 
And  there  a  long  and  steady  gaze 

Into  the  deep  he  sent. 


A  whispered  prayer,  and  down  he  leaps 

From  off  the  giddy  height, 
Into  the  foaming  flood  below. 

Where  all  is  black  as  night ! 
(A  hundred  shouts  went  up  to  Heaven/ 

And  he  was  lost  to  sight ! 


Then  spake  the  bravest  knight  of  all 
Who  saw  that  fearful  thinjr, 

"  If  thus  your  Gracious  Majesty 
His  jeweled  crown  should  fling, 

Pardie  !  I  would  not  seek  it  there, 
To  wear  it  as  a  king ! 

VIII. 

"  Alas  !  that  one  so  younsr  and  fair 
Should  find  a  watery  grave  ; 

In  vain  were  mortal  succor  now 
The  gallant  boy  to  save  !  " 

But  see  !  —  an  arm  is  gleaming  forth 
Above  th   foaming  wave  ! 

ix.  . 

'T  is  he  !  see  how  his  straining  arms 

Obey  his  will's  command  ; 
One  struggle  more,  —  the  boy  is  saved 

His  foot  is  on  the  land ! 


THE   GOLDSMITH'S  DAUGHTER. 


223 


And  now  he  bows  before  the  king, 
The  goblet  in  his  hand  ! 


'  Here,    daughter !    fill  the  cup    with 
wine  !  " 

The  king  exclaimed  aloud  ; 
Whereat  a  damsel,  young  and  fair, 

In  filial  duty  bowed  ; 
And  soou  returned  the  brimming  cup, 

Before  the  smiling  crowd. 


"  Long  live  your  gracious  Majesty  ! 

He  said,  and  drank  the  wine  ; 
"  And  may  no  mortal  ever  dare 

A  deed  so  dread  as  mine  ; 
Nor  brave  the  monsters  that  I  saw 

Beneath  the  foamy  brine ! 


"  Ah,  me !  to  think  of  all  I  saw ; 

It  fills  me  now  with  dread  ! 
The  horrid  sharks  and  dragons  huge 

That  in  the  sea  are  bred ; 
And  serpents  vast  that  coil  and  crawl 

Within  their  slimy  bed. 

XIII. 

"  The  goblet  hung  upon  a  crag 

Far  down  as  I  could  dive ; 
I  know  not  how  I  got  me  thence, 

Though  fiercely  I  did  strive ; 
But  God  is  good,  and  heard  my  prayer, 

And  here  I  stand  alive !  " 


"  The  cup  is  thine !  "  the  monarch  said ; 

"  And  thou  hast  earned  it  dear  ; 
But,  thou  shalt  have  this  costly  ring, 

(A  diamond  large  and  clear!) 
To  dive  again,  and  further  bring 

What  thou  shalt  see  and  hear !  " 


"  Nay,    father  !  "  —  thus    the    maiden 
spoke,  — 

"  This  cruel  play  forbear  ; 
And  let  some  hardv  knight  of  thine 

The  page's  honor  share  ; 
Already  has  the  boy  achieved 

What  not  a  man  did  dare  !  " 


'T  was  then  the  monarch  seized  the  cup 

And  threw  it  in  the  sea ; 
"Go!   fetch  it    up!"   he  cried,   "and 
thou 


A  knight  of  mine  shall  I*  ; 
And  this  my  daughter,  weeping  here, 
I  '11  make  her  wife  to  thee  ! " 

XVII. 

One  glance  upon  the  beauteous  maid  ; 

One  look  of  inward  pain  ; 
One  supplicating  prayer  to  Heaven, 

And  down  he  dives  again, 
To  follow  where  the  goblet  fell, 

Beneath  the  raging  main  ! 


Long  —  long   they   gaze  with  anxious 
looks ; 

In  vain  their  eyes  explore 
The  dashing  waves  beneath  the  rock, 

Where  sullen  breakers  roar ; 
Alack,  alack,  —  he  comes  not  back ! 

The  boy  is  seen  no  more ! 


THE  GOLDSMITH'S  DAUGHTER 

FROM  THE  GEBMAK  OF  UHLAND. 


UP  spoke  the  Goldsmith  proudly 

Unto  his  daughter  fair : 
"  Ah  !  here  are  pearls  and  diamonds, 

And  rubies  rich  and  rare ; 
But  none  with  thee,  my  Helen, 

In  beauty  can  compare ! " 


In  came  a  knight  so  gayly, 
A  youth  of  noble  mien  ; 

With  "  I  would  have  a  garland, 
The  finest  e'er  was  seen  : 

Spare  neither  cost  nor  labor  ; 
'T  is  for  my  bridal  queen." 


The  work  is  done  ;  and  Helen 
Cried,  "  Lucky  bride  is  she 

Who  wears  this  splendid  garland ! 
Ah  !  would  he  give  to  me 

A  simple  wreath  of  roses, 
How  happy  I  should  be  !  " 


'T  is  well,"  the  knight  made  answer, 
When  he  the  wreath  had  seen ; 

'Now  make  a  ring  with  diamonds, 
And  of  the  purest  sheen : 


224 


THE  GOOD  DOG  OF  BRETT&. 


Spare  neither  cost  nor  labor  ; 
'T  is  for  my  bridal  queen." 


The  work  is  done  ;  and  Helen 
Cried,  "  Lucky  bride  is  she 

Who  wears  this'hlazing  circlet ! 
Ah  !  would  he  give  lo  me 

One  of  his  golden  tresses, 
How  happy  I  should  be ! " 


"  'T  is  well,"  the  knight  made  answer ; 

Then  to  the  maid  he  cried, 
"  I  faiu  would  have  these  jewels 

On  thee,  a  moment,  tried  ; 
That  1  may  judge  the  surer 

If  they  become  my  bride." 


And  soon  her  blushing  forehead 
Was  w  ith  the  garland  graced ; 

And  then  upon  her  finger 
The  knight,  in  loving  haste, 

The  ring  of  gold  and  diamonds 
In  merry  triumph  placed. 

VIII. 

"  Ah  !  Helen,  dearest  Helen  ! " 
The  happy  lover  fried ; 

"  For  thee  they  were  intended, 
My  darling  and  mv  pride ! 

Ami  by  these  jeweled  tokens 
I  take  thee  for  my  bride  !  " 


THE  GOOD  DOG  OF  BRETTE. 


A    GERMAN    LEGEND. 


SHOULD  you  e'er  go  to  Brette,  be  sure 

you  don't  fail 
To  look  at  the  dog  on  the  old  city 

gate; 
A    poodle    in    marble,    with    never    a 

tail 
Save  the  piteous  one  which  the  people 

relate 
Of  a  dog  who  was  wont,  in  the  cleverest 

way, 
To  carrv  a  basket  whereon  vou  might 

find, 

In  capital  letters  as  plain  as  the  day, 
This  plaintive  petition,  "  Remember 
the  Blind  I6 


n. 

And  thus  through  the  city  he  went,  it  is 

said, 
Soliciting  food  that  his  owner  might 

live ; 
And  never  himself,  till  his  master  was 

fed, 
Touched  a  morsel  of  aught  that  the 

people  might  give ; 
Such  a  good  little  dog,  of  such  talents 


In  Brette,  be  sure,  had  an  excellent 

name ; 
And  every  one  hastened   to  honor  his 

quest, 

And  treat  him  with  kindness,  whei 
ever  he  came. 


But  once,  on  a  Friday  ('tis  ever,  they 

say, 
A  day  when  misfortune  is  aptest  to 

fall). 
As  the  dog  went  his  round,  in  the  usual 

way, 
He  came  to  a  butcher  who  mocked  at 

his  call : 
"  What !    flesh  on   a  fast   day  !  —  you 

heathenish  cur ! 
Egad  !  you  shall  have  it !  —  a  nice  bit 

of  meat !  " 
And,  cutting  his  tail  off,  cried,  "  Off  with 

yon,  sir ! 

Take  that,  if  you  please,  for  your  mas- 
ter to  eat ! " 


He  went  to  his  home,  and  his  basket  set 

down; 
So  stricken  with  grief,  and  so  hurt  in 

his  pride, 
That  he  never  again  showed  his  face  in 

the  town, 
But,  moaning  in  misery,  sickened  and 

died. 
And  all  through  the  city  the  story  was 

told 
Of  the  beggar  lamenting  the  loss  of 

his  mate  ; 
And  all  through  the  city  the  young  and 

the  old  — 

Men,  women,  and  children  —  lament- 
ed his  fate. 


MY  BALD  HEAD. 


225 


And  now  you  may  see,  on  the  old  city 

gate, 

His    effigy    standing    in    marble    to- 
day; 
Whereof  the  good  people  to  strangers 

relate 
The    piteous   story  I  've  told  in  my 

lay; 

And  the  origin,  hence,  you  will  readily 

learn 
Of  the  saying,  repeated  in  country  and 

city, 
When  kindness  receives  an  ungrateful 

return, 

"  He  fares  —  the  poor  man !  —  like  the 
poodle  of  Brette !  " 


THIRTEEN  AT  TABLE. 

BEHANGER. 


I  SPILT  the  salt,  one  day,  —  and,  worse, 
"  Thirteen  at  table  !     Sure,  some  curse 
Is  in  the  omens  !     Such  the  way 
That  Death  gives  warning,  — "so  they 

say." 

Scarce  had  I  spoken,  when  a  sprite, 
Young,    handsome,     joyous,    met    my 

sight ; 
Whereat  I  cried,  "Friends!    be  of 

cheer ! 
I  've  looked   on   Death,  and  do  not 

fear !  " 


A  gay,  invited  guest  she  seemed ; 
With     fairest    flowers    her     forehead 

gleamed ; 

A  rainbow  arched  her  head  around  ; 
A  broken  chain  was  on  the  ground  ; 
And,  sweetly  nestling  on  her  breast, 
A  sleeping  baby  lay  at  rest. 
Fill  up,  my  friends  !  —  No  danger's 

near ; 

I  've  looked  on  Death,  and  do  not 
fear! 


"  Why   tremble  ?  "    said   the  spirit,  — 

"why  ? 

Sister  of  Hope,  Heaven's  daughter  I ! 
From  weary  necks  I  lift  the  yoke ; 
I  touch  the  slave,  —  his  chain  is  broke ; 
15 


To  man  —  fallen  angel  —  I  restore 
The  seraph  wings  he  had  of  yurc  ! " 
"  0  maid  !  "  I  cried,  "  thou  'rt   wel- 
come here ! 

I  've  looked  on  Death,  and  do  not 
fear !  " 


"  By  me  released  from  carnal  thrall, 
The  soul,  beyond  this  earthlv  ball, 
Shall  range  in  yonder  azure  "dime, 
In  spacious  fields  and  paths  sublime  ; 
But  here,  oppressed  by  fleshly  woes, 
Ah !  little  joy  the  spirit  knows !  " 

A  bumper  to  that  higher  sphere ! 

I  've  looked  on  Death,  and  do  not 
fear ! 


Alas  !  although  I  bid  her  stay, 
The  lovely  vision  flies  away ; 
In  vain  we  mortals  wish  to  shun 
The  rest  that  waits  our  journey  done; 
Life  is  a  ship,  mere  sailors  we ; 
And  tide  and  wind  are  fair  and  free. 

Thirteen  !  Who  cares  ?     God's  smile 
is  here  ; 

I  Ve  looked  on   Death,  and  do  not 
fear! 


MY  BALD  HEAD. 

(Afes  cheveux.) 

BER  ANGER. 


GOOD  friends,  pray  listen,  if  you  please, 

To  Pleasure's  licensed  preacher ; 
Hold  fast  to  Liberty  and  Ease ; 

So  says  your  reverend  teacher. 
To  laugh  at  Care,  be  gay  and  free, 

The  precepts  I  advise  : 
I  'm  bald  because  I  'm  sage,  you  see ; 

So  listen  to  the  wise  ! 


Good  friends,  when  Care  assails  a  man, 

To  vex  his  soul  and  body, 
I  think  it  much  the  wisest  plan 

To  drown  it  —  in  a  toddy  ! 
Nay,  not  too  much  !  —  the  glass  should 
be 

Of  very  dainty  size  : 
I  'm  bald  because  I  'm  sage,  you  see  ; 

So  listen  to  the  wise  ! 


MUCH  LOVE. 


Good  friends,  these  hints  will  stand  the 
test, 

And  should  n't  be  neglected  ; 
But  what  's  the  good  of  all  the  rest, 

If  Beauty  is  rejected  ? 
Young  Love,  true  Love,  must  ever  be 

The  richest  earthly  prize  : 
I  'm  bald  because  I  'in  sage,  you  see; 

So  listen  to  the  wise  ! 


Good  friends,  bdieve  me,  only  so 

We  save  Life's  truest  treasures; 
By  just  condensing,  as  they  flow, 

Youth's  evanescent  pleasures. 
My  sermon  's  done  ;  who  lists  to  me 

The  power  of  Fate  defies  : 
I  'm  bald  because  I  'in  ssige,  you  see ; 

So  listen  to  the  wise  ! 


GIRLS!  PASS   ALONG! 
.   (Passez,  jeunes  fittes.) 

BERANGER. 


BLESS  me  !  what  a  rosy  row 

Of  girls  at  me  their  glances  throw, 

As  they  gayly  come  and  go, 

The  light  coquettish  throng  ! 
Can't  the  darlings  hear  me  say, 
"  I  have  had  my  youthful  day ; 
Now  I  put  such  things  away  "  ? 

Girls!  pass  along!  % 


Ah,  my  Zoe  !  pray  desist ! 
Sooth,"!  care  not  to  be  kissed; 
Ask  your  mother  if  I  list 

To  Cupid's  siren  song. 
Site  —  but  that  is  entre,  nous  — 
Knows  what  Love  and  I  can  do ; 
Her  advice  you  'd  best  pursue,  — 

Girls !  pass  along ! 

in. 

Laura  !  you  would  hardly  guess 
How  your  grandam  used  to  press 
Lips  of  mine  —  well  —  I  confess  — 

We  did  n't  think  it  wrong; 
Look  !  she  's  coming  !     Tempt  me  not 
In  gay  saloon  or  shady  grot ; 


A  jealous  eye  the  dame  has  got, — 
Girls  !  pass  along  ! 

IV. 

You  smiling  too  !  you  naughty  Rose ! 
I  wonder,  now,  if  you  suppose 
I  'm  not  aware  what  sort  of  beaux 

Around  your  beauty  throng? 
I  know  the  husband-hunting  crew, 
And  all  the  pretty  tricks  they  do ; 
I  'm  old,  — but  much  too  young  for  yon! 

Girls  !  pass  along ! 


Away,  away  !  you  madcaps !  —  fly ! 
Your  roguish  arts  why  will  you  try 
To  bind  a  gray  beard  —  such  as  I  — 

With  Cupid's  slender  thong  ? 
Yet,  like  a  powder  magazine, 
My  heart  from  flying  sparks  I  screen, 
The    sparks   that  shoot   from  wanton 
een  — 

Girls  !  pass  along  ! 


MUCH  LOVE 
(Beaucoup  d' Amour.) 

BERANGER. 


I  KNOW  by  sages  we  are  told 

To  reckon  riches  vile  ; 
I  'm  not  a  sage,  and  so  of  gold 

I  'd  like  a  pretty  pile. 
It  is  not  avarice  ;  Oh  no  ! 
For  Sophie's  sake  I  'd  have  it  so  : 
Oh,  't  is,  be  sure, 
Beaucoup  d' amour ; 
Only  love,  —  much  love  ! 


And  I  would  be  a  bard  divine, 

Her  praises  to  prolong  ; 
And  link  my  Sophie's  name  with  mine^ 

In  never-dying  song ; 
Yet  if  I  thus  "aspire  to  claim 
The  poet's  laurel  wreath  of  fame, 
Oh,  't  is,  be  sure, 
Beaucoup  d' amour  : 
Only  love,  —  much  love  ! 


And  I  would  be  a  sceptred  king, 
That  Sophie  might  be  seen 


THE  PRIDE   OF  BEAUTY. 


227 


With  all  that  royalty  could  bring 

To  grace  my  darling  queen. 
Ambition  ?  No ;  for  her  alone 
I  'd  wish  to  sit  upon  a  throne : 

Oh,  't  is,  be  sure, 

Beaucoup  d' amour  ; 
Only  love,  —  much  love  ! 

IV. 

Yet  why,  Oh  why,  would  I  possess 

These  shining'gifts  of  Fate  ? 
For  love  has  more  of  happiness 
Than  fortune,  fame,  or  state  : 
So  let  them  go  ;  I  '11  not  repine  ; 
The  sweetest  treasure  still  is  mine  : 
Oh,  't  is,  be  sure, 
Beaucoup  d'amour  ; 
Only  love,  —  much  love ! 


THE  PUPPETS. 


OOR  life  is  but  a  puppet  show ; 

Men,  mere  mechanic  factors; 
And  rich  and  poor,  and  high  and  low, 

Involuntary  actors. 

Clowns,  courtiers,  statesmen,  serfs,  and 
kin»a. 

The  wicked  and  the  pious,  — 
We  all  are  worked  by  secret  springs, 

And  move  as  others  ply  us. 


And    yet,    vain    man  !    he    deems    his 
course 

Is  by  himself  decided  ; 
Because  he  cannot  >ee  the  force 

By  which  his  mind  is  guided. 
But  noon  or  later  he  will  see 

That,  like  his  wooden  brothers, 
He  's  ever  been,  and  still  must  be, 

A  puppet,  ruled  by  others. 


Just  mark  the  maid  of  seventeen, 

When  first  the  gentle  dreamer, 
Unconscious    what     the    mood     may 
mean, 

Feels  love's  delicious  tremor,  — 
What  secret  power,  unknown  before, 

Can  thus  so  sweetly  sway  her  ? 
She  's  but  a  puppet,  nothing  more,  — 

And  Cupid  is  the  player ! 


Observe  yon  alderman  so  grand, 

How  shrewdly  and  how  neatly 
His    wife    (the    young    coquette !)  has 
planned 

To  rule  the  man  completely ! 
Perhaps  a  spark  of  jealous  fire 

Within  the  puppet  lingers, 
I  only  know  the  moving  wire 

Is  held  in  madam's  fingers! 


And  so  it  is  with  all  mankind, 

The  womankind  befool  us  ; 
We  're  merely  puppets,  deaf  and  blind, 

And  hers  the  art  to  rule  us  ; 
We  laugh  and  cry  and  work  and  play 

According  to  her  fancies  ; 
Whate'er  the  lady's  whim  may  say, 

Just  so  the  puppet  dances  ! 


THE  PRIDE  OF  BEAUTY. 

BERANGER. 

A  GALLANT  youth,  whose  lady-love  pos- 
sessed" 
The   rarest  charms  to  fire  the  manly 

breast, 

Was  so  enamored  of  the  beauteous  maid, 
That  to  the  powers  above  —  below  —  he 

prayed, 
Right   fervently,  to  make  her    beauty 

less; 

Nay,  turn  it,  if  they  would,  to  ugliness ; 
That  so  it  might  be  shown  his  constant 

flame, 
Despite  the  change,  would  glow  for  her 

the  same. 
This  strange  request  no  sooner  Satan 

heard, 
Than,  quick  as  thought,  he  took  him  at 

his  word, 

And",  by  such  arts  as  only  Satan  knows, 
The  deed  was  done  !  —  away  her  beauty 

goes ! 
And  now    before    her    mirror    see    her 

stand, 

No  more  "  the  fairest  lady  in  the  land," 
But  such  a  Hecate,  such  a  very  fright, 
She   shrieked  aloud,  and  shuddered  at 

the  sight. 
And  Satan  langhed  !     But  still  the  lover 

swore 
In  very  sooth  he  loved  her  as  before ! 


228 


THE  HEN  AND   THE  HONEY-BEE. 


"0  faithful  soul!"  she  s:>.id  ;  but  little 
less 

The  woman  mourned  her  vanished  love- 
liness. 

"  Mv  beautv  gone  !  "  the  weeping  dam- 
sel cried  ; 

"To  come  to  this!     Ah,  would  that  I 

had  died  ! " 

In  short,  she  wept,  at  such  a  frantic 
rate, 

The  very  Fiend  took  pity  on  her  fate, 

And  soon  was  fiiin  her  beauty  to  restore. 

And  now  hehold  her  at  her  glass  once 
more, 

Handsome  as  Helen  when,  with  radiant 
charms, 

She   summoned   Paris   to   her   waiting 
arms : 

More    beautiful,    indeed,    than    in    the 
hour 

She   knew   the  demon's  disenchanting 
power ; 

For,  while  the  Fiend  called  hack  her  for- 
mer face, 

He  slyly  added  many  a  winning  grace. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  "  I  'm  sure  you 
love  me  more, 

Ay,  twice  as  much  as  e'er  you  did  be- 
fore " 

"  Nav,"  said  the  lover,  "  as  I  loved  no 
1«?B 

When  once  I  saw  your  beauty  in  dis- 
tress, — 

No  more,  my  sweet,  this  added  grace 
may  chum 

Thau  my  whole  heart,  —  I  love  you  but 

the  same !  " 

"  Adieu  !  "  she  said  ;  "  to  me  't  is  very 
clear 

Heaven  seuds  us  beauty  but  to  make  us 
dear  ; 

And  well  I  see  my  love  were  thrown 
away 

On  one  so  dull  that  he  can  coolly  say, 
W  ho  cares  —  not  I !  —  how  beautiful 
you  be? 

Handsome  or  homely,  all  is  one  to  me ! ' " 


LITTLE  PETER  THE  PORTER. 

DE    PERTHES. 

O,  I  AM  Little  Peter, 

Of  faubourjr  La  Pucelle ; 

A  carrier  of  water, 

And  messenger,  as  well ; 


To  gain  an  honest  living 

I  've  got  a  clever  head ; 
I  seldom  fill  my  pocket, 

But  then  I  g'et  my  bread  ! 

I  have  no  land  nor  servants  ; 

All  equipage  I  lack; 
These  leys,  they  are  my  horses ; 

My  funds  are  on  my  back. 
I  take  the  good  that 's  going, 

Quite  certain  to  be  fed ; 
God  wills  us  all  a  living, 

And  so  I  get  my  bread ! 

Before  some  stately  building 

I  place  my  little  stand ; 
No  Swiss  you  need  to  parley, 

The  muster  is  at  hand. 
Up  early  in  the  morning, 

And  late  at  night  to  bed, 
I  cull  the  day  a  good  one 

In  w  hich  I  get  my  bread  ! 

There  goes  a  man  of  millions, 

But  what  is  that  to  me  ? 
Who  knows  but  Little  Peter 

Is  happier  than  he  ? 
The  rich  man  has  his  troubles, 

I  often  hear  it  said; 
He  cair  but  eat  his  mutton, 

And  I  —  I  get  my  bread ! 

I  've  heard  my  worthy  uncle, 

Before  his  sad  decease, 
Declare  no  man  is  wretched 

Whose  stomach  is  at  peace ; 
And  should  these  fine  days  vanish, 

And  dark  ones  come  instead, 
The  neighbors  love  poor  Peter, 

And  I  shall  get  my  bread  ! 


THE  HEN  AND  THE  HONEY- 
BEE. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  GELLET. 

A  LAZY  Hen,  —  the  story  e-oes,  — 
Loquacious,  pert,  and  self-conceited. 

Espied  a  Bei'  upon  a  rose, 

And  thus  the  busy  insect  greeted  : 

"  Say,  what  's  the  use  of  snch  as  you, 
(Excuse   the  freedom  of  a   neigh- 
bor !) 

Who  gad  about,  and  never  do 
A  single  act  of  useful  labor  1 


ICARUS. 


229 


"  I  've  marked  you  well  for  many  a 
day, 

In  garden  blooms  and  meadow-clover ; 
Now  here,  now  there,  in  wanton  play; 

From  morn  to  night  an  idle  rover. 

"  While  I  discreetly  bide  at  home, 
A  faithful  wife,  the  best  of  mothers, 

About  the  fields  you  idly  roam, 
Without  the  least  regard  for  others. 

"  While  I  lay  eggs,  or  hatch  them  out, 
You  seek  the  flowers  most  sweet  and 
fragrant, 

And,  sipping  honey,  stroll  about, 

At  best  a  good-for-nothing  vagrant !  " 

"Nay,"    said    the    Bee,  "you    do    me 

wrong  ; 
I  'm  useful  too ;   perhaps  yon  doubt 

it, 

Because  —  though  toiling  all  day  long  — 
I  scorn  to  make  a  fuss  about  it ! 


"  While  you,  with  every  egg  that  cheers 
Your  daily  task,  must  stop  and  ham- 
mer 
The  news  in  other  people's  ears, 

Till    they     are    deafened    with    the 
clamor : 

"  Come  now  with  me,  and  Bee  my  hive, 
And   note  how  folks  may  work   in 

quiet ; 
To  useful  arts  much  more  alive 

Than    you    with    all    your  cackling 
riot ! " 


The  Poet,  one  may  plainly  see 

Who  reads  this  fable  at  his  leisure, 
Is  represented  by  the  Bee, 

Who  joins  utility  to  pleasure ; 
While  in  this  self -conceited  Hen 

We  note  the  Poet's  silly  neighbor, 
Who  thinks  the  noisy  "  working-men" 

Are  doing  all  the  useful  labor  ! 


TEAYESTIES. 


ICARUS. 


ALL  modern  themes  of  poesy  are  spun 

so  verv  fine, 
That  now  the    most    amusing    muse, 

e  f/ratia,  such  as  mine, 
Is  often 'forced  to  cut  the  thread  that 

strings  our  recent  rhymes. 
And  try  the  stronger  staple  of  the  good 

old  classic  times. 


There  lived  and  flourished  long  ago,  in 
famous  Athens  town, 

One  D&dalns,  a  carpenter  of  genius  and 
renown  ; 

('Twas  he  who  with  an  auger  taught 
mechanics  how  to  bore,  — 

An  art  which  the  philosophers  monopo- 
lized before.) 


His  only  son  was  Icarus,  a  most  pre- 
cocious lad, 


The  pride  of  Mrs.  Daedalus,  the  image 

of  his  dad ; 
And  while  he  yet  was  in  his  teens  such 

progress  he  had  made, 
He  'd  got  above  his  father's  size,  and 

much  above  his  trade. 


Now  Dcedalus,  the  carpenter,  had  made 
a  pair  of  wings, 

Contrived  of  wood  and  feathers  and  a 
cunning  set  of  springs, 

By  means  of  which  the  wearer  could  as- 
cend to  any  height, 

And  sail  about  among  the  clouds  as  easy 
as  a  kite  ! 


"  O  father,"  said  young  Icarus,  "  how  I 

should  like'to  fly ! 
And  go  like  you  where  all  is  blue  along 

the  upper  sky  ; 
How  very  charming  it  would  be  above 

the  moon  to  climb. 
And  scamper  through  the  Zodiac,  and 

hav?  a  high  old  time ! 


PYRAMUS  AND  TH1SBE. 


"  Oh  would  n't  it  be  jolly,  though,  —  to 

stop  at  all  the  inns  ; 
To  take  a  luncheon  at '  The  Crab,'  and 

tipple  at  '  The  Twins  ; ' 
And,   just    for   fun   and   fancy,    while 

careering  through  the  air, 
To  kiss  the  Virgin,  tease  the  Ram,  and 

bait  the  biggest  Bear  ? 


"  0  father,  please  to  let  me  go ! "  was 

still  the  urchin's  cry  ; 
"  I  '11  be   extremely   careful,    sir,   and 

won't  go  very  high ; 
Oh  if  this  little  pleasure-trip  you  only 

will  allow, 
I  promise  to  be  back  again  in  time  to 

fetch  the  cow !  " 


"  You  're  rather  young,"  said  Daedalus, 
"  to  tempt"  the  upper  air ; 

But  take  the  wings,  and  mind  your  eye 
with  very  special  care  ; 

And  keep  ab  least  a  thousand  miles  be- 
low the  nearest  star 

Young  lads,  when  out  upon  a  lark,  are 
apt  to  go  too  far  ! 


He  took  the  wings  —  that  foolish  boy  — 

without  the  least  dismay  ; 
His  father  stuck  'em  on  with  wax,  and 

so  he  soared  away  ; 
Up,  up  he  rises,  like  a  bird,  and  not  a 

moment  stops 
Until  he's  fnirly  out  of  sight  beyond  the 

mountain-tops ! 


And  still  he  flies — away — away;  it 
seems  the  merest  fun  ; 

No  marvel  he  is  getting  bold,  and  aim- 
ing at  the  sun ; 

No  marvel  he  forgets  his  sire  ;  it  is  nt 
very  odd 

That  one  so  far  above  the  earth  should 
think  himself  a  god  ! 


Already,  in  his  silly  pride,  he  's  gone  too 

The  heat  begins  to  scorch  his  wings  ; 

the  wax  is  waxing  soft; 
Down  — down  he  goes!  —  Alas! — next 

day  poor  Icarus  was  found 


Afloat  upon  the  JEigenn  Sea,  extremely 
damp  and  drowned ! 


The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale  is  plain 

enough  to  all  :  — 
Don't  get  above  your  proper  sphere,  or 

you  may  chance  to  fall  ; 
Remember,  too,  that  borrowed  plumes 

are  most  uncertain  things  ; 
And   never  try  to  scale  the  sky  with 

other  people's  wings ! 


PYRAMUS   AND   THISBE. 

THIS  tragical  tale,  which,  they  say,  is  a 
true  one, 

Is  old,  but  the  manner  is  wholly  a  new 
one. 

One  Ovid,  a  writer  of  some  reputation, 

Has  told  it  before  in  a  tedious  narra- 
tion ; 

In  a  style,  to  be  sure,  of  remarkable  full- 
ness, 

But  which  nobody  reads  on  account  of 
its  dullness. 

Young  Peter  Pyramns,  /call  him  Peter, 
Not  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  or  me- 
tre, 
But  merely  to   make    the    name  com- 

pleter,  — 

For  Peter  lived  in  the  olden  times, 
And  in  one  of  the  worst  of  Pagan  climes 
That  flourish  now  in  classical  fame, 
Long  before 
Either  noble  or  boor 
Had  such  a  thing  as  a  Christian  name,  — 
Young  Peter  then   was  a   nice  young 

beau 
As    any    young    lady   would    wish  to 

know ; 

In  years,  I  ween, 
He  was  rather  green, 
That  is  to  say,  he  was  just  eighteen,  — 
A  trifle  too  "short,  and  a   shaving  too 

lean, 
But  "  a  nice  young  man  "  as  ever  was 

seen, 
And  fie  to  dance  with  a  May-day  queen  ! 

Now  Peter  loved  a  beautiful  girl 
As  ever  ensnared  the  heart  of  an  earl 
In    the    magical    trap    of    an    aubun 
curl,  — 


"  And  keep  at  least  a  thousand  miles  below  the  nearest  star."     Page  230. 


PYRAMUS  AND   THIS  BE. 


231 


A  little   Miss  Thisbe   who   lived  next 

door 
(They  slept  in  fact  on  the  very  same 

floor, 
With  a  wall  between  them,  and  nothing 

more, 
Those  double  dwellings  were  common 

of  yore), 
And  they  loved  each  other,  the  legends 

say, 

In  that  very  beautiful,  bountiful  way 
That  every  young  maid, 
And  every  young  blade, 
Are  wont  to  do  "before  they  grow  staid 
And  learn  to  love  bv  the  laws  of  trade. 
Hut  alack-a-day  for  the  girl  ami  boy, 
A    little    impediment    checked    their 

joy. 

And  gave    them,   awhile,   the   deepest 

annoy. 
For  some  good  reason,  which   history 


go 
ks, 


cloa 

The  match  did  n't  happen  to  please  the 
old  folks  ! 

So  Thisbe's  father  and  Peter's  mother 
Began  the  young  couple  to  worry  and 


And   tried   their    innocent   passions  to 

sinoiher 
By  keeping  the  lovers  from  seeing  each 

other ! 

But  whoever  heard 
Of  a  marriage  deterred, 
Or  even  deferred, 
By  any  contrivance  so  very  absurd 
As  scolding   the    boy,  and   caging   his 
bird? 

Now  Peter,  who  was  n't  discouraged  at 

all 

By  obstacles  such  as  the  timid  appall, 
Contrived    to   discover  a   hole   in  the 

w.,11, 

Which  was  n't  so  thick 
But  removing  a  brick 
Made  a  pass.-ige,  —  i hough  rather  pro- 

vokingly  small. 
Through  this  little  chink  the  lover  could 

greet  her, 
And   secrecy  made   their  courting  the 

sweeter, 
While  Peter  kissed  Thisbe  and  Thisbe 

kissed  Peter,  — 
For  kisses,  like  folks  with   diminutive 

souls, 
Will    manage    to    crei 


smallest  of  holes  ! 


•p    through    the 


°T  was  here  that  the  lovers,  intent  upon 

love, 

Laid  a  nice  little  plot 
To  meet  at  a  spot 
Near  a  mulberry -tree  in  a  neighboring 

grove ; 

For  the  plan  was  all  laid 
By  the  youth  and  the  maid 
(Whose  hearts,  it  would  seem,  were  un- 
commonly bold  ones), 
To  run  off  and  get  married  in  spite  of 
the  old  ones. 

In  the  shadows  of  evening,  as  still  as  a 

mouse, 
The  beautiful  maiden  slipt  out  of  the 

house, 

The  mulberry-tree  impatient  to  find, 
While   Peter,   the   vigilant   matrons  to 

blind, 

Strolled  leisure!  v  out  some  minutes  be- 
hind. 
While   waiting   alone  by  the  trysting 

tree, 

A  terrible  lion 
As  e'er  you  set  eye  on 
Came  roaring    along"   quite    horrid    to 

see, 
And  caused  the  young  maiden  in  terror 

to  flee 
(A    lion  's  a  creature    whose    regular 

trade  is 
Blood,  —  and  "  a  terrible  thing  among 

ladies"), 
And  losing  her  veil  as  she  ran  from  the 

wood, 
The   monster    bedabbled   it  over   with 

blood. 

Now  Peter  arriving,  and  seeing  the  veil 
All  covered  o'er 
And  recking  with  gore, 
Turned    all  of    a  sudden    exceedingly 

pale, 
And  sat  himself  down  to  weep  and  to 

wail,  — 
For,  soon  as  he  saw  the  garment,  poor 

Peter 
Made  up   in   his   mind,   in   very  short 

metre, 
That  Thisbe  was  dead,  and  the  lion  had 

eat  her! 

So  breathing  a  prayer, 
He  determined  to  share 
The  fate  of  his  darling,  "  the  loved  and 

the  lost," 

And  fell  on  his  dagger,  and  gave  up  th« 
ghost ! 


282 


THE   CHOICE   OF  KING  MIDAS. 


Now  Thisbe  returning,  and  viewing  her 
beau, 

Lying  dead  by  the  veil  (which  she  hap- 
pened to  know), 

She  guessed,  in  a  moment,  the  cause  of 

his  erring. 

And  seizing  the  knife 
Which  had  taken  his  life, 

In  less  than  a  jiffy  was  dead  as  a  her- 
ring ! 

MORAL. 

Young  gentlemen  !  pray  recollect,  if  you 
please, 

Not  to  make  assignations  near  mulberry- 
trees  ; 

Should  your  mistress  be  missing,  it 
shows  a  weak  head 

To  be  stabbing  yourself  till  you  know 
she  is  dead. 

Young  ladies  !  you  should  n't  go  stroll- 
ing about 

When  your  anxious  mammas  don't 
know  yon  are  out, 

And  remember  that  accidents  often  be- 
fall 

From  kissing  young  fellows  through 
holes  in  the  wall. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  KING  MIDAS. 

KINO  MIDAS,  prince  of  Phrygia,  several 

thousand  years  ago, 
Was  a  very    worthy  monarch,  as   the 

classic  annals  show ; 
You  may  read  'em  at  your  leisure,  when 

you  have  a  mind  to  doze, 
In  the  finest  Latin  verses,  or  in  choice 

Hellenic  prose. 

Now  this  notable  old  monarch,  King  of 

Phrygia,  as  aforesaid 
(Of  whose   royal   state   and   character 

tliere  might  bevastlv  more  said), 
Though  he  occupied  a  palace,  kept  a 

very  open  door, 
And  had  still  a  ready  welcome  for  the 

stranger  and  the  poor. 

Now  it  chanced  that  old  Silenus,  who, 
it  seems,  had  lost  his  way, 

Following  Bacchus  through  the  forest, 
in  the  pleasant  month  of  May 


(Which  was  n't  very  singular,  for  at  the 

present  day 
The  followers  of  Bacchus  very  often  go 

astray), 

Came  at  last  to  good  King  Midas,  who 
received  him  in  his  court, 

Gave  him  comfortable  lodgings,  and  — 
to  cut  the  matter  short  — 

With  as  much  consideration  treated 
weary  old  Silenus, 

As  if  the  entertainment  were  for  Mer- 
cury or  Venus. 

Now  when  Bacchus  heard  the  story,  he 

proceeded  to  the  king, 
And  says  he  :  "  By  old  Silemis  you  have 

done  the  handsome  thing ; 
He  's  my  much  respected  tutor,  who  has 

taught  me  how  to  read, 
And    I  'in    sure    your    royal    kindness 

should  receive  its  proper  meed  ; 

"  So  I  grant  you  full  permission  to  se- 
lect your  own  reward. 

Choose  a  gift  to  suit  your  fancy, — 
something  worthy  of  a  lord  !" 

"Bully  Bacche !  "  cried  the  monarch, 
""  if  I  do  not  make  too  bold, 

Let  whatever  I  may  handle  be  trans- 
muted into  gold ! " 

Midas,  sitting  down  to  dinner,  sees  the 

answer  to  his  wish, 
For  the  turbot  on  the  platter  turns  into 

a  golden  fish ! 
And  the  bread  between  his  fingers  is  no 

longer  wheaten  bread, 
But  the  slice  he   tries  to  swallow  is  a 

wedge  of  gold  instead ! 

And  the  roast  he  takes  for  mutton  fills 
his  mouth  with  golden  meat, 

Very  tempting  to  the  vision,  but  ex- 
tremely hard  to  eat ; 

And  the  liquor  in  his  goblet,  very  rare, 
select,  and  old, 

Down  the  monarch's  thirsty  throttle 
runs  a  stream  of  liquid  gold  ! 

Quite  distrusted  with  his  dining,  he  be- 
takes him  to  his  bed  ; 

But,  aJas !  the  golden  pillow  doesn't 
rest  his  weary  head 

Nor  does  all  the  gold  around  him  soothe 
the  monarch's  tender  skin; 

Golden  sheets,  to  sleepy  mortals,  might 
as  well  be  sheets  of  tin. 


PHAETHON. 


233 


Now  poor  Midas,  strnight  repenting  of 

his  rash  and  foolish  clioice, 
Went  to  Bacchus,  and  assured  him,  in  a 

very  plaintive  voice, 
That  his  golden  gift  was  working  in  a 

manner  most  unpleasant,  — 
And  the  god,  in  sheer  compassion,  took 

away  the  fatal  present. 

MORAL. 
By  this  mythologic  story  we  are  very 

plainly  told, 
That,  though  gold  may  have  its  uses, 

there  are  better  things  than  gold ; 
That  a  man   may  sell  his  freedom    to 

procure  the  shining  pelf; 
And  that  Avarice,  though  it  prosper, 

still  contrives  to  cheat  itseli". 


PHAETHON ; 

OR,    THE    AMATEUR   COACHMAN. 

DAN  PHAETHON  —  so  the  histories 
run  — 

Was  a  jolly  young  chap,  and  a  son  of 
the  Sun,— 

Or  rather  of  Phoebus :  but  as  to  his 
mother, 

Genealogists  make  a  deuce  of  a  pother, 

Some  going  for  one,  and  some  for 
another. 

For  myself,  I  must  say,  as  a  careful  ex- 
plorer, 

This  roariug  young  blade  was  the  son 
of  Aurora ! 

Now  old  Father  Phoebus,  ere  railways 

begun 

To  elevate  funds  and  depreciate  fun, 
Drove  a  verv  fast  coach  by  the  name  of 

"  The  Sun  ;  " 
Running,  they  say, 
Trips  every  day 
(On   Sundays  and  all,  in  a  heathenish 

way),' 

All  linht.'d  up  with  a  famous  array 
Of  lanterns  that  shone  with  a  brilliant 

display, 
And  dashing  along  like  a  gentleman's 

"  shay," 

With  n  -ver  a  fare,  and  nothing  to  pay ! 
Now  Phacthou  begged  of  his  doting  old 

father 
To  grant  him  a  favor,   and   this    the 

rather, 


Since  some  one  had  hinted,  the  youth  to 

annoy, 
That  he  was  n't  by  any  means  Phoebus's 

boy  ! 

Int<  nding,  the  rascally  son  of  a  gun, 
To  darken  the  brow  of  the  son  of  the 

Sun! 
"  By  tbe  terrible  Styx  !  "  said  the  angry 

sire, 
While  his  eyes  flashed  volumes  of  fury 

and  fire, 
"  To  prove  your  reviler  an  infamous 

liar, 
I  swear  I  will  grant  you  whate'er  you 

desire  ! " 

"  Then  by  my  head," 
The  youngster  said, 
"  I  '11  mount  the  coach  when  the  horsea 

are  fed  !  — 
For  there  's  nothing  I  'd  choose,  as  I'm - 

alive, 
Like  a  si'at  on  the  box,  and  a  dashing 

drive  !  " 

"Nay,  Phaethon,  don't,— 
I  beg  you  won't,  — 

Just  stop  a  moment  and  think  upon  't !  " 
"  You  're  quite  too  young,"  continued 

the  sair'e, 

"  To  tend  a  coach  at  your  tender  age ! 
Besides,  you  see, 
'Twill  really  be 

Your  first  appearance  on  any  stage  I 
Desist,  my  child, 
The  cattle  are  wild, 
And  when  their  mettle  is  thoroughly 

'  riled,' 
Depend      upon  't     the    coach  '11     b» 

'  spiled,'  — 

They  're  not  the  fellows  to  draw  it  mild  I 
"Desist,  I  sav, 
You'll  rue  "the  day,— 
So  mind,  and  don't  be" foolish,  Pha  !  '* 
But  the  youth  was  proud, 
Anil  swore  aloud, 
'Twas  just  the  thing  to  astonish  the 

crowd,  — 
He  'd  have  the  horses  and  would  n't  b» 

co\vt»d ! 

In  vain  the  boy  was  cautioned  at  large, 
He  called  for  the  chargers,  unheeding 

the  charge, 
And  vowed  that  any  young  fellow  of 

force 
Could    manage    a    dozen    coursers,  of 

course ! 

Now  Phoebus  felt  exceedingly  sorry 
He  had  given  his  word  in  such  a  hurry. 
But  having  sworn  by  the  Styx,  no  doubt 


234 


POLYPHEMUS  AND   ULYSSES. 


He  was  in  for  it  now,  and  conld  n't  back 

put. 

So  calling  Phaethon  up  in  a  trice, 
He  gave  the  youth  a  bit  of  advice :  — 

"  Parce  stimulis,  utere  loris  ! 
(A  '  stage  direction,'  of  which  the  core 

is.. 
Don't  use  the  whip,  —  they  're  ticklish 

things,  — 
But,  whatever  you  do,  hold  on  to  the 

strings!) 
Remember  the  rule  of  the  Jehu-tribe  is, 

Media  tntissimus  ibis, 
As  the  Judge   remarked  to  a  rowdy 

Scotchman, 
Who  was  going  to  quod  between  two 

watchmen  ! 
So    mind    your    eye,  and    spare  your 

goad, 
Be  shy  of  the  stones,  and  keep  in  the 

road ! " 

Now  Phaethon,  perched  in  the  coach- 
man's place, 

Drove  off  the  steeds  at  a  furious  pace, 
Fast  as  coursers  running  a  race, 
Or  bounding  alonj;  in  a  steeple-chase  ! 
Of  whip  and  shout  there  was  no  lack, 

"  Crack  —  whack  — 

Whack  — crack," 
Resounded  along  the  horses'  back! 
Frightened  beneath  the  stinging  lash, 
Cutting  their  flanks  in  many  a  gash, 
On,  on  they  sped  as  swift  as  a  flash, 
Through    thick    and    thin    away    they 

dash, 

(Such  rapid  driving  is  always  rash !) 
When    all    at   oiice,  with   a   dreadful 

crash, 

The  whole    "establishment"   went  to 
smash  ! 

And  Phaethon,  he, 

As  all  agree, 

Off  the  coach  was  suddenly  hurled, 
lulu  a  puddle,  and  out  of  the  world ! 


Don  t      rashly     take      to      dangerous 

courses,  — 

Nor  set  ii,  down  in  your  table  of  forces. 
Thai    any   one    man   equals   any    four 
horses ! 

Don't  swear  bv  the  Styx !  — 

It 's  one  of  Old  Nick's 

I  >i;iliolical  tricks 

To  gi-i  people  into  a  regular  "fix," 
And  hold  'em  there  as  fast  as  bricks ! 


POLYPHEMUS  AND  ULYSSES. 

A  VERY  remarkable  history  this  is 

Of  one  Polyphemus  and  Captain  Uly» 
ses : 

The  latter  a  hero,  accomplished  and 
bold, 

The  former  a  knave,  and  a  fright  to  be- 
hold, — 

A  horrid  big  giant  who  lived  in  a  den, 

And  dined  every  day  on  a  couple  of 
men, 

Ate  a  woman  for  breakfast,  and  (dread- 
ful to  see!) 

Had  a  nice  little  baby  served  up  with 
his  tea ; 

Indeed,  if  there  's  truth  in  the  uprightly 
narration 

Of  Homer,  a  poet  of  some  reputation, 

Or  Virgil,  a  writer  but  little  inferior, 

And  in  some  things,  perhaps,  the  other's 
superior,  — 

Polvphemus  was  truly  a  terrible  crea- 
ture, 

In  manner-  and  morals,  in  form  and  in 
feature; 

For  law  and  religion  he  cared  not  a  cop- 
per, 

And,  in  short,  led  a  life  that  was  very 
improper:  — 

What    made    him   a  very  remarkable 

pny, 

Like  the  late  Mr.  Thompson,  he  'd  only 
one  eye ; 

But  that  was  a  whopper, —  a  terrible 
one,  — 

"As  large"  (Virgil  says)  "  as  the  disk 
of  the  sun  ;  " 

A  brilliant,  but  rather  extravagant  fig- 
ure, 

Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  his  eye 
was  much  bigger 

Than  yours,  —  or  even  the  orb  of  your 
sly 

Old  bachelor-friend  who's  "a  wife  in 
his  eye." 

Ulysses,  the  hero  I  mentioned  before, 

Was  shipwrecked,  one  day,  on  the  pes- 
tilent shore 

Where  the  Cyclops  resided,  along  with 
their  chief, 

Polvphemus,  the  terrible  man-eating 
thief, 

Whose  manners  they  copied,  and  laws 
they  obeyed, 

While  driving  their  horrible  cannibal 
trade. 


POLYPHEMUS  AND  ULYSSES. 


235 


With  many  expressions  of  civil  regret 

That  Ulysses  had  got  so  unpleasantly 
wet, 

With  many  expressions  of  pleasure  pro- 
found 

That  all  had  escaped  being  thoroughly 
drowned, 

The  rascal  declared  he  was  "  fond  of 
the  brave," 

And  invited  the  strangers  all  home  to 
his  cave. 

Here  the  cannibal  king,  with   as  little 

remorse 
As  an  omnibus  feels  for  the  death  of  a 

horse, 
Seized,  crushed,  and  devoured  a  brace 

of  the  Greeks, 
As  a  Welshman  would  swallow  a  couple 

of  leeks, 

Or  a  Frenchman,  supplied  with  his  us- 
ual prog, 
Would  punish  the   hams   of  a  favorite 

frog. 

Dashed  and  smashed  against  the  stones, 
He  broke  their  bodies  and  cracked  their 

bones, 
Minding    no    more   their    moans    and 

groaus 
Than    the   grinder   heeds    his    organ's 

tones ! 

With  purple  gore  the  pavement  swims. 
While  the  giant  crushes  their  crackling 

limbs, 

And  poor  Ulysses  trembles  with  fright 
At  the    horrid   sound,   and   the   horrid 

sight,  — 

Trembles  lest  the  monster  grim 
Should  make  his  "  nuts  and  raisins  "  of 
-  him  ! 

And,  really,  since 
The  man  was  a  Prince, 
It's  not   very   odd   that   his   Highness 

should  wince 
(Especially     after    such     verv     strong 

hints), 
At  the  cannibal's    manner,   as   rather 

more  free 

Than  bis  Highness  at  court  was  accus- 
tomed to  see ! 
But  the  crafty   Greek,   to  the  tyrant's 

hurt 
Though  he  did  n't  deserve   so  fine   a 

dessert), 
Took  a  dozen  of  wine  from  his  leather 

trunk, 
And    plied    the    giant    until    he    was 

drunk !  — 


Drunker  than  any  one  you  or  I  know, 
Who  buys  his  "  Rhenish  "  with    ready 

rhino,  — 
Exceedingly  drunk, — Sepultus  vino  I 

Gazing  a  moment  upon  the  sleeper, 
Ulysses  cried  :   "  Let 's  spoil  his  peep- 
er !  — 
'T  will  put  him,  my  boys,  in  a  pretty 

trim, 

If  we  can  manage  to  douse  his  glim  !  " 
So,  taking  a  spar  that   was   lying  in 

sight, 

They  poked  it  into  his  "  forward  light," 
And  gouged  away  with  furious  spite, 
Ramming  and  jamming  with  all  their 
might ! 

In  vain  the  giant  began  to  roar, 
And  even  swore 
That  he  never  before 
Had  met,  in   his  life,  such  a  terrible 

bore. 

They  only  plied  the  auger  the  more, 
And  mocked  his  grief  with  a  bantering 

cry, 
"  Don  't  babble  of  pain,  —  It 's  all  in  your 

eye  !  " 

Until,  alas  for  the  wretched  Cyclops  ! 
He    gives    a   groan,  and  out  his  eye 

pops! 
Leaving    the  knave,  one  need  n't    be 

told, 
As  blind  as  a  puppy  of  three  days  old. 

The  rest  of  the  tale  I  can't  tell  now,  — 
Except    that  Ulysses  got   out  of  the 

row, 
With  the  rest  of  his  crew,  —  it's  no 

matter  how ; 
While   old  Polyphemus,  until  he   was 

dead,  — 
Which  was  n't  till  many  years  after,  't  is 

said, — 
Had  a  grief  in  his  heart  and  a  hole  in 

his  head  ! 


Don  't  use  strong  drink,  —  pray  let  me 
advise,— 

It 's  bad  for  the  stomach,  and  ruins  the 
eyes  ; 

Don  't  impose  upon  sailors  with  land- 
lubber tricks, 

Or  you  '11  catch  it  some  day  like  a  thoo 
sand  of  bricks ! 


236 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 

SIR   ORPHEUS,  whom  the  poets   have 

sung 

In  every  metre  and  every  tongue, 
Was,  you    may  remember,   a    famous 

musician,  — 

At  least,  for  a  vouth  in  his  pagan  con- 
dition, — 

For  historians  tell  he  played  on  his  shell 
From  morning  till  night,  so  remarkably 

well 

That  his  music  created  a  rejrular  spell 
On  trees  and  stones  in  forest  and  dell ! 
What  sort  of  an  instrument  his  could  be 
Is  really  more  than  is  known  to  me,  — 
For  nun e  of  the  books  have  told,  d'ye 

see ! 

It's  very  certain  those  heathen  "swells" 
Knew  nothing  at  all  of  oyster-shells, 
And  it 's  clear  Sir  Orpheus  never  could 

own  a 

Shell  like  those  they  make  in  Cremona; 
But   whatever  it   was,   to   "  move    the 

stones  " 
It  must  have  shelled  out  some  powerful 

tones, 
And  entitled  the  player  to  rank  in  my 

rhvme 
As  the  very  Vieuxtemps  of  the  very  old 

time! 

But  alas  for  the  joys  of  this  mutable 

life ! 

Sir  Orpheus  lost  his  beautiful  wife,  — 
Eurydice,  —  who  vanished  one  day 
From  Earth,  in  a  very  unpleasant  way  ! 
It  chanced,  as  near  as  I  can    determine, 
Through  one  of  those  vertebrated  ver- 
min 

That  He  in  the  grass  so  prettily  curled, 
Waiting   to  "snake"  you  out  of  the 

world ! 

And  tin:  poets  tell  she  went  to  —  well  — 
A   place    where    Greeks   and    Romans 

dwell 

After  they  hurst  their  mortal  shell  ; 
A  region  that  in  the  deepest  shade  is, 
And    known  by  the  classical  name   of 

Hades,  - 

A  different  place  from  the  terrible  fur- 
nace 
Of  Tartarus,  down  below  Avernus. 

Now,   having    a  heart   uncommonly 

stout, 
Bir  Orpheus  did  n't  go  whining  about, 


Nor  marry  another,  as  you  would,  no 

doubt, 

But  made  up  his  mind  to  fiddle  her  out! 
But  near  the  gate  he  had  to  wait, 
For  there  in  state  old  Cerberus  sate. 
A  three-headed  dog,  as  cruel  as  Fate, 
Guarding  the  entrance  early  and  late  ; 
A  beast  so  sagacious  and  very  voracious, 
So  uncommonly   sharp  and   extremely 

rapacious, 

That  it  really  may  be  doubted  whether 
He  'd  have  his  match,  should  a  common 

tether 
Unite  three  aldermen's  heads  together  ! 

But  Orpheus,  not  in  the  least  afraid, 
Tuned  up  his  shell,  and  quickly  essayed 
What  could  be  done  with  a  serenade  ; 
In  short,  so  charming  an  air  he  played, 
He  quite  succeeded  in  overreaching 
The  cunning  cur,  by  musical  teaching, 
And  put  him  to  sleep  as  fast  as  preach- 
ing! 

And  now  our  musical  champion,  Or- 
pheus, 

Having  given  the  janitor  over  to  Mor- 
pheus, 

Went  groping  around  among  the  ladies 
Who  throng  the  dismal  halls  of  Hades, 

Calling  aloud 

To  the  shady  crowd, 
In  a  voice  as  shrill  as  a  martial  fife, 
"  Oh  tell  me  where  in  hell  is  my  wife ! " 
(A  natural  question,  't  is  very  plain, 
Although    it   may  sound   a  little   pro- 
fane.) 

"  Eurydice !  Eu-ri/d-i-ce  !  " 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be, — 
(A  singular  sound,  and  funny  withal, 
In  a  place  where  nobody  rides  at  all !) 

"  Eurvdice  !  —  Eurydice  ! 
Oh  come,  my  dear,  along  with  me !  " 
And  then  he  played  so  remarkably  fine 
That  it  really  might  be  called  divine,  — 

For  who  can  show, 

On  earth  or  below, 

Such   wonderful   feats  in   the   musical 
line? 

E'en  Tantalus  ceased  from   trying  to 

sip 

The  cup  that  flies  from  his  arid  lip ; 
Ixion,  too,  the  magic  could  feel, 
And,  for  a  moment,  blocked  his  wheel; 
Poor  Sisyphus,  doomed  to  tumble  and 

toss 
The  notable  stone  that  gathers 


JUPITER  AND  DANAE. 


237 


Let  go  his  burden,  and  turned  to  hear 
The  charming  sounds  that  ravished  his 

car  ; 
And  even  the  Furies,  —  those  terrible 

shrews 
Whom     no     one     before    could     ever 

amuse,  — 

Those  strong-bodied  ladies  with  strong- 
minded  views 
Whom  even  the  Devil  would  doubtless 

refuse, 
Were   his   Majesty   ouly   permitted   to 

choose,  — 
Each  felt  for  a  moment  her  nature  desert 

her, 
And  wept  like  a  girl  o'er  the  "  Sorrows 

of  Werther." 

And    still    Sir   Orpheus  chanted  his 

song, 
Sweet  and  clear  and  strong  and  long, 

"  Eurydice  !  —  Eurydice  !  " 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be ; 
And  Echo,  taking  up  the  word, 
Kept  it  up  till  the  lady  heard, 
Au<l  came  with  joy  to  meet  her  lord. 
And    he    led    her    along    the    infernal 

route, 

Until  lie  had  got  hrr  almost  out, 
When,  suddenly  turning  his  head  about 
(To  take  a  peep  at  his  wife,  no  doubt), 
He  gave  a  groan, 
For  the   lady  was  gone, 
And    had  left    him  standing  there  all 

alone  ! 

For  by  an  oath  the  gods  had  bound 
Sir  Orpheus  not  to  look  aronnd 
Till  he  was  clear  of  the  sacred  ground, 
If  he'd  have  Eurydice  safe  and  sound  ; 
For  the  moment  he  did  an  act  so  rash 
His  wife   would  vanish  as  quick  as  a 
flash! 


Young  women  !  beware,  for  goodness' 

sake, 

Of  every  sort  of  "  sarpent  snake  ;  " 
Kemeinber  the  rogue  is  apt  to  deceive, 
And    played    the    deuce    with   Grand- 
mother Eve ! 

Young  men!    it "s   a  critical   thing  to 

go 

Exactly  right  with  a  lady  in  tow; 
But  when  you  are  in  the  proper  track, 
just  go  ahead,  and  never  look  back  ! 


JUPITER  AND  DANAE : 

OR,    HOWTO   WIN   A    WOMAW. 

IMPERIAL  Jove,   who,  with  wonderful 

art, 
Was  one  of  those  suitors  that  always 

prevail, 
Once   made   an  assault  on   so  flinty  a 

heart 

That   he  feared  for  a  while  he  was 
destined  to  fail. 

A    beautiful    maiden,   Miss   Danae   by 

name, 
The   Olympian   lover  endeavored   to 

win ; 

But  she  peeped  from  the  casement  when- 
ever he  came, 

Exclaiming,  "  You  're  handsome,  but 
cannot  come  in !  " 

With  sweet  adulation    he  tickled  her 

ear; 
But  still   at  her  window   she  quietly 

sat, 
And   said,  though    his    speeches  were 

pleasant  to  hear, 

She  'd  always  been  used  to  such  hom- 
age as  that ! 

Then  he  spoke,  in  a  fervid  and  raptur. 

ous  strain, 
Of  a  bosom  consuming  with  burning 

desire ; 
But  his  eloquent  pleading  was  wholly 

in  vain,  — 

She  thought  it  imprudent  to  meddle 
with  fire ! 

Then  he  begged  her  in  mercy  to  pitj 

his  case, 
And  spoke  of  his  dreadfully  painful 

condition  ; 
But  the  lady  replied,  with  a  sorrowful 

face, 

She  was  only  a  maiden,  and  not  a 
physician  ! 

In  vain  with  these  cunning  conventional 

snares, 
To    win    her    the    gallant  Lothario 

strove; 
In  spite  of  his  smiles,  and  his  tears,  and 

his  prayers, 

She    could  n't,    she  would  n't,    b« 
courted  by  Jov« ! 


RICHARD  OF  GLOSTER. 


At  last  he  contrived,  —  so  the  story  is 

told,  — 
By  some  means  or  other,  one  evening, 

to  pour 

Plump  into  her  apron  a  shower  of  gold, 
Which  opened  her  heart,  —  and  un- 


bolted her  door ! 


Hence  suitors  may  learn  in  matters  of 

love 
'T  is  idle  in  manners    or    merit  to 

trust ; 

The  only  sure  way  is  to  imitate  Jove,  — 
Just  open  your  purse,  and  come  down 
with  the  dust. 


VENUS  AND  VULCAN: 

OR,    THE    MYSTERY    EXPLAINED. 

WHEN  the  peerless  Aphrodite 
First  appeared  among  her  kin, 

What  a  flutter  of  excitement 
All  the  goddesses  were  in  ! 

How  the  gods,  in  deep  amazement, 
Bowed  before  the  Queen  of  Beauty, 

And  in  loyal  adoration 
Proffered  each  his  humble  duty  ! 

Phoebus,  first,  to  greet  her  coming, 
Met  her  wiih  a  grand  oration  ; 

Mars,  who  ne'er  before  had  trembled, 
Showed  the  plainest  trepidation  ! 

Hermes  fairly  lost  his  cunning, 
Gazing  at  the  new  Elysian  ; 

Plntus  ()iiite  forgot  his  money 
In  the  rapture  of  his  vision  ! 

Even  Jove  was  deeply  smitten 
(So  the  Grecian  poets  tell  us), 

Ami,  »s  might  have  been  expected, 
Juno  was  extremely  jealous ! 

Staid  Minerva  thought  her  silly  ; 

Chaste  Diana  called  her  vain; 
But  not  one  of  all  the  ladies 

Dared  to  say  that  she  was  "  plain  "  ! 

Surely  such  a  throng  of  lovers 
Never  mortal  yet  could  boast ; 

Everywhere  throughout  Olympus 
"  Charming  Venue  !  "  was  the  toast ! 


Even  Vulcan,  lame  and  ugly, 

Paid  the  dame  his  awkward  court; 

But  the  goddess,  in  derision, 
Turned  his  passion  into  sport ; 

Laughed  aloud  at  all  bis  pleading, 
Bade  him  wash  his  visage  sooty, 

And  go  wooing  with  the  Harpies, 
What  had  he  to  do  with  Beauty  ? 

Well  —  how  fared  it  with  the  sroddessl 
Sure,  the  haughty  queen  of  love, 

Choosing  one  to  suit  her  fancy, 
Married  Phoebus,  Mars,  or  Jove  ? 

No !  —  at  last  —  as  often  happens 
To  coquettes  of  lower  station  — 

Venus  found  herself  neglected, 
With  a  damaged  reputation  ; 

And  esteeming  any  husband 

More  desirable  than  none, 
She  was  glad  to  marry  Vulcan 

As  the  best  that  could  be  done! 

L'ESVOI. 

Hence  you  learn  the  real  reason, 
Which  your  wonder  oft  arouses, 

Why  so  many  handsome  women 
Have  such  very  ugly  spouses ! 


RICHARD  OF  GLOSTER. 


A    TRAVESTY. 

PERHAPS,  my  dear  boy,  you  may  never 
have  heard 

Of    that    wicked    old    monarch,    King 
Richard  the  Third,  — 

Whose    actions   were  often    extremely 

absurd ; 

And  who  lived  such  a  sad  life, 
Such  a  wanton  and  mad  life  ; 

Indeed,  I  mnv  say,  such  a  wretchedly 
bad  life", 

I  suppose  I  am  perfectly  safe  in  declar- 
ii'!:, 

There  was  ne'er  such  a  monster  of  in- 
famous daring. 

In  all  sorts  of  crime  he  was  wholly  un- 
sparing ; 

In  pride  and   ambition   was   quite   be- 
yond bearing ; 

And  had  a  liad  habit  of  cursing  and 
swearing. 


RICHARD  OF  GLOSTER. 


239 


I  must  own,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  more 

than  suspected 

The  King's  education  was  rather  neg- 
lected ; 
And  that  at  your  school  with  anv  two 

"  Dicks'" 
Whom  your  excellent  teacher  diurnally 

pricks 
In    his   neat   little  tahles,  in  order  to 

fix 
Each  pupil's  progression  with  numeral 

nicks, 
Masti-r  Richard  Y.  Gloster  would  often 

have  heard 
His  standing  recorded  as  "  Richard  — 

tfie  third!" 
But  whatever  of  learning  his  Majesty 

had, 
'T  is    clear    the    King's    English    was 

shockingly  bad. 
At  the  .-lightest  pretense 
Of  dialojuu  offense, 

His  anger  exceeded  all  reason  or  sense  ; 
And,  having  no  need  to  foster  or  mvrse 

it,  he 
Would  open  his  wrath,  then,  as  if  to 

disperse  it,  he 
Would  scatter  his  curses  like   College 

degrees ; 

And.  quite  at  his  ease, 
Conferred  his  "  d  d  '*," 
As  plenty  and  cheap  as  a  young  Uni- 

ver.-ity  ! 

And  yet  Richard's  tongue  was  remark- 
ably smooth, 
Could    imer    a    lie   quite    as  easy    as 

truth 

{Another  bad  hnhit  he  got  in  his  vouth), 
And  had,  on  occasion,  a  powerful  bat- 
ter v 
Of  plausible  phrases  and  eloquent  flat- 

tery, 

Which  gave  him,  my  boy,  in  that  bar- 
barous day 
(Things  are  different  now,  I  am  happy 

to  say), 
Over  feminine  hearts  a  most  perilous 

sway. 
The    women, 

hump 
Which  he  wore  on  his  back,  all  thought 

him  a  trump  ; 
And  just  when  he  'd  played   them  the 

scurviest  trick, 
They  'd  swear  in  their  hearts  that  this 

crooked  old  stick.  — 
This  treacherous,  dangerous,  dissolute 

Dick, 


spite    of  an    odious 


For  honor  and  virtue  beat  Cato  all  hoi- 

low; 
And   in  figure  and  face  was  another 

Apollo ! 

He  murdered  their  brothers, 
And  fathers  and  mothers  ; 
And,  worse  than  all  that,  he  slaughtered 

by  dozens 
His  own  royal  uncles  and  nephews  and 

cousins ; 

And  then,  in  the  cunningest  sort  of  ora- 
tions, 

In  smooth  conversations, 
And  flattering  ovations, 
Made  love  to  the  principal  female  rela- 
tions ! 
'T  was  very  improper,  my  boy,  you  must 

know, 
For  the  sou  of  a  King  to  behave  himself 

so ; 
And  you  '11  scarcely  believe  ..what  the 

chronicles  show 
Of  his  wonderful  wooings, 
And  infamous  doings; 
But  here  's  an  exploit  that  he  certainly 

did  do,  — 

Killed  his  own  cousin  Ned, 
As  he  slept  in  his  bed, 
And  married,  next  day,  the  disconsolate 
widow ! 

I  don't  understand  how  such  ogres 
arise, 

But  beginning,  perhaps,  with  things  lit- 
tle in  size, 

Such  as  torturing  beetles  and  blue-bot- 
tle-flies, 

Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  poodle-dog's 
eyes,  — 

King  Richard  had  grown  so  wantonly 
cruel, 

He  minded  a  murder  no  more  than  a 
duel ; 

He  'd  indulge,  on  the  slightest  pretense 
or  occasion, 

In  his  favorite  amusement  of  decapita- 

Until  "  Off  with  his  head !" 
It  is  credibly  said, 
From  his  Majesty's  mouth  came  as  easy 

and  pat 
As  from  an  old  constable,  "  Off  with  hia 

hat !  " 

One  really  shivers, 
And  fairly  quivers, 

To  think  of  the  treatment  of  Grey  and 
Rivera 


240 


RICHARD   OF   GLOSTER. 


And   Hastings  and  Vaughn  and  other 

good  livers, 

All  suddenly  sent,  at  the  tap  of  a  drnm, 
From  the  Kingdom  of  England  to  King- 

dom-Come! 

Of  Buckingham  doomed  to  a  tragical  end 
For  being  the  tyrant's  particular  friend  ; 
Of  Clarence  who  died,  it  is  mournful  to 

think, 
Of  wine  that  he  was  n't  permitted  to 

driuk  ; 

And  tbc  beautiful  babies  of  royal  blood, 
Two  little  White  Roses  both  nipt  in  the 

bud; 
And  silly  Queen  Anne,  —  what  sorrow 

it  cost  her 
(And  served  her  rijrht!)  for  daring  to 

foster 
The  impudent  suit  of  this  Richard  of 

Gloster, 
Who,  instead  of  conferring  a  royal  gra- 

tuity, 

A  dower,  or  even  a  decent  Anne-\\\\y, 
Just  gave  her  a  portion  of  —  something 

or  other 
That  made  her  as  quiet  as  Pharaoh's 

mother  ! 

Ah  Richard  !  you're  going  it  quite  too 

fast; 
Your  doom  is  slow,  but  it  's  coming  at 

last; 

Your  bloody  crown 
Will  topple  down, 

And  you  '11  be  done  uncommonly  brown  ! 
Your  foes  are  thick, 
My  daring  Dick, 
And  Richmond,  a  prince,  and  a  regular 

brick, 
Is  after  you  now  with  a  very  sharp  stick  ! 

On  Bosworth  field  the  armies  to-night 
itching 
sight  ; 


Are  pitching  their  tents  in  each 


night 
other' 


And   to-morrow  !    to-morrow  !   they  're 

going  to  fight  ! 

And  now  King  Richard  has  gone  to  bed  ; 
But  e'en  in  his  sleep 
He  cannot  keep 

The  past  or  the  future  out  of  his  head. 
In  his  deep  remorse 
Each  mangled  corse 
Of    all   he   had   slain,  —  or,  what  was 

worse, 
Their  ghosts,  —  came  up    in    terrible 

force, 

And   greeted    his  ear  with   unpleasant 
discourse, 


Until,  with  a  scream, 
He  woke  from  his  dream, 
And  shouted  aloud  for  "  another  horse !  * 

Perhaps  you  may  think,  my  little  dear, 
King  Richard's  request  was  rather 

Sneer ; 
presently  make  it  exceedingly 
clear :  — 

THE    ROYAL    SLEEPER   WAS    OVERFED! 

I  mean  to  say  that,  against  his  habit, 

He'd  eaten  Welsh-rabbit 
With  very  bad  whiskey  on  going  to  bed. 
I've  had 'the  Night-Mare  with  horrible 

force, 
And  much  prefer  a  different  horse ! 

But  see !  the  murky  night  is  gone ! 
The  Morn  is  up,  and  the  Fight  is  on  ! 
The  Knights  are  engaging,  the  warfare 

is  waging, 
On  the  right,  on  the  left,  the  battle  is 

raging ; 

King  Hichard  is  down  ! 
Will  he  save  his  crown  ? 
There  's  a  crack  in  it  now !  —  he  's  be- 
ginning to  bleed  ! 

Aha !  King  Richard  has  lost  his  steed ! 
(At  a  moment  like  this  'tis  a  terrible 

need  !) 

He  shouts  aloud  with  thundering  force, 
And  offers  a  very  high  price  for  a  horse, 
But  it  's  all  in  vain,  —  the  battle  is 

done,  — 
The   day   is    lost !  —  and  the    day  is 

won !  — 
And  Richmond  is  King !  and  Richard's 

a  corse ! 

MORAL. 

Remember,  my  boy,  that  moral  enormi- 
ties 

Are  apt  to  attend  corporeal  deformities. 

Whatever  you  have,  or  whatever  you 
lack. 


Beware  of  getting  a  crook  in  your  back ; 
And,  while  you  're  about  it,  I  'd 
much  rather 


'd  very 


You  'd  grow  tall  and  superb,  i.  e.  copy 
your  father ! 

Don't  learn  to  be  cruel,  pray  let  me  ad- 
vise, 

By  torturing  beetles  and  blue-bottle 
flies, 

Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  poodle-dog's 
eyes. 


OTHELLO,   THE  MOOR. 


241 


If  vou  evr  should  marry  remeirber  to 
wed 

A  handsome,  plump,  modest,  sweet- 
spoken,  well-bred, 

And  sensible  maiden  of  twenty,  —  in- 
stead 

Of  a  widow  whose  husband  is  recently 
dead! 

If  you  'd  shun  in  your  naps  those  hor- 
rible lucubi, 

Beware  what  you  eat,  and  be  careful 
what  drink  you  buy; 

Or  else  you  may  see,  in  your  sleep's 
perturbations, 

Some  old  and  uncommonly  ugly  rela- 
tions, 

Who  'II  be  very  apt  to  disturb  your  nu- 
tations 

By  unpleasant  allusions  and  rude  obser- 
vations ! 


OTHELLO,  THE   MOOR. 

ROMANCES  of  late   are  so  wretchedly 

poor, 
Here  goes  for  the  old  one  :  —  Othello, 

the  Moor ; 
A  warrior  of  note,  and  by  no  means  a 

boor, 

Though  the  skin  on  his  face 
Was  as  black  as  the  ace 
Of  spades  :  or  (a  simile  nearer  the  case) 
Say,  black  as  the  Deuce ;  or  black  as  a 

brac<i 

Of  very  black  cats  in  a  very  dark  place ! 
That 's  the  German  idea ; 
But  how  he  could  be  a 
Regular  negro  don't  seem  very  clear; 
For  Horace,  you  know, 
A  great  while  ngo 
Put  a  sentiment  forth  which  we  all  must 

agree  to : 
"  Hie     ui'ier    est  ;    hunc     tu,     Romane, 

cavtto ! " 
( A  nigger's  a  rascal  that  one  ought  to 

see  to.) 

I  rnther.  in  sooth, 
Think  it  nearer  the  truth 
To   take    the    opinion   of    young   Mr. 

Booth, 

Who  makes  his  Othello 
A  grim-looking  fellow 
Of  a  color  compounded  of  lamp-black 

and  yellow. 

Now   Captain   Othello,   a  true   son    of 
Mars, 

16 


The    foe    being    vanquished,   returned 

from  the  wars, 
All  covered  with  ribbons,  and  garters, 

and  stars, 
Not  to  mention  a  score  of  magnificent 

sea;  s  : 

And  calling,  one  day, 
In  a  neighborly  way, 
On  Signer  Brabautio, —  one  of  the  men 
Who    figured    in    Venice    as    Senator 

then,  — 

Was  invited  to  tell 
Of  all  that  befell 

Himself  and  his  friends  while  campaign- 
ing so  well, 
From  the  time  of  his  boyhood  till  now 

he  was  grown 
The  greatest  of  Captains  that  Venice 

had  known. 

As  a  neighbor  should  do, 
He  ran  it  quite  through, 
(I   would  n't   be   bail  it  was  all  of  it 

true), 
Recounting,  with   ardor,  such  trophies 

and  glories, 
Among  Ottoman    rebels  and  Cyprian 

tories, 
Not  omitting  a   parcel  of  cock-and-bull 

stories,  — 
That   he  quite  won   the   heart   of  the 

Senator's  daughter, 
Who,  like  most  of  the  sex,  had  a  passion 

for  slaughter : 
And  was  wondrously  bold 
In  battles,  —  as  told 
By  brilliant  romancers,  who  picture  in 

gold 

What,  in  its  own  hue,  you  'd  be  shocked 
to  behold. 

Now  Captain   Othello,  who  never  had 

known  a 
Young  lady  so  lovely  as   "  Fair  DCS- 

demona," 
Not  even   his    patroness,    Madam   Bcl- 

lona,  — 

Was  delighted,  one  day, 
At  hearing  her  say, 

Of  all  men  in  the  world  he  'd  the  charm- 
ingest  way 
Of  talking  to  women ;  and   if  any  one 

should, 
(Tho'  she  did  n't  imagine  that  any  one 

would,  — 
For  where,  to  be  sure,  was  another  who 

could  1 ) 
But  if—  and  suppose  —  a  lover  came  to 

her, 


242 


OTHELLO,   THE  MOOR. 


And  told  her  his  story,  't  would  certainly 

woo  her. 

With  so  lucid  a  hint, 
The  dickens  were  in  't, 
If  he  could  ii't  have  read  her  as  easy  as 

print ; 
And  thus  came  of  course,  —  but  as  to 

the  rest,  — 
The   billing  and   cooing  I  leave  to  be 

guessed, — 
And  how,  when  their  passion  was  fairly 

confessed, 
They  sent  for  a  parson  to  render  them 

"    "blest,"  — 

Although  it  was  done,  I  am  sorrv  to  say, 
In  what  Mrs.  P.  —  had  it  happened  to- 
day — 
Would    l>e  likely  to   call  a  clamdestiny 

way! 

I  cannot  recount 
One  half  the  amount 
Of  curses  that  burst  from   his  cardiac 

fount 
When  Signer  Brabantio  learned  that  the 

Moor 
Had  married  his  daughter  :  "  How  dared 

IK-  to  woo  her  ? 
The    sooty-skinned    knave,  —  thus    to 

blight  and  undo  her  1 
With  what  villanous  potions  the  scoun- 
drelly sinner 
Must  have  poisoned  her  senses  in  order 

to  win  her ! " 

And  more  of  the  same,  — 
But  my  language  is  lame, 
E'en   a  fish  woman's   tongue  were    de- 
cidedly tame 

A  tithe  of  the  epithets  even  to  name, 
Compounded  of  scorn  and  derision  and 

hate, 
Which    Signer    Brabantio   poured    on 

the  pate 
Of    the    beautiful   girl's  nigritudinous 

mate  ! 

I  cannot  delay 
To  speak  of  the  way 
The  matter  was  settled;    suffice  it  to 

say 
'T  was  exactly  the  same  as  you  see  in  a 

play. 
Where  the  lady  persuades  her  affecrion- 

ate  sire 
That  the  fault  was  her  own,  — which 

soften-;  his  ire, 
And,   though   for  a  season  extremely 

annoyed, 
At  last  he  approves  —  what  he  cannot 

avoid ! 


Philosophers  tell  us 
A  mind  like  Othello's  — 
Strong,  manly,  and  brave  —  is  n't  apt  to 

be  jealous ; 

But  now,  you  must  know, 
The  Moor  had  a  foe, 
lago,  by  name,  who  concealed  with  a 

show 

Of  honest  behavior  the  wickedest  heart 
That  Satan  e'er  filled  with  his  treacher- 
ous art, 

And  who,  as  a.  friend, 
Was  accustomed  to  lend 
His  gifts  to  the  most  diabolical  end, 
To    wit,    the    destruction    of    Captain 

Othello, 
Dcsdemona,  his  wife,  and  an  excellent 

fellow, 
One  Cassio,  a  soldier,  —  too  apt  to  get 

mellow,  — 
But  as   honest  a  man   as  ever  broke 

bread, 
A  bottle  of  wine,  or  an  Ottoman  head. 

'T  is  a  very  long  story, 
And  would  certainly  bore  ye, 

Being  not  very  brilliant  with  grandeur 
or  glory, 

How  the  wicked  Tago  contrived  to  abuse 

The    gallant     Othello    respecting     hia 

views 

Of  his  fair  lady's  honor; 
Reflecting  upon  her 

In  damnable  hints,  and  by  fragments  of 
news 

About   jalming  and  presents,   himself 
had  invented, 

Until  the  poor  husband  was  fairly  de- 
mented, 

And  railed  at  his  wife,  like  a  cowardly 
varlet, 

And    gave   her  an  epithet,  —  rhyming 
with  scarlet, 

And   prated   of    Cassio   with    virulent 
spleen, 

And  called  for  a  handkerchief  some  one 
had  seen, 

And  wanted  to  know  what  the  deuce  it 
could  mean  ? 

And  —  to    state    the  case    honestly  — 
really  acted 

In  the  manner  that  women  call  "  rav- 
ing-distracted ! " 

It  is  sad  to  record 
How  her  lunatic  lord 
Spurned  all  explanation  the  dame  could 
afford, 


MY  QUEEN. 


243 


And   still    kept    repeating    the   odious 

word, 

So  false,  and  so  foul  to  a  virtuous  ear, 
That  I  could  n't  be  tempted  to  uieiition 

it  here. 

'T  is  sadder  to  tell 
Of  the  crime  that  befell, 
When,   moved,  it  would  seem,  by  the 

demons  of  hell, 
He  seized  a  knife, 
And,  kissing  his  wife, 
Extinguished  the  light  of  her  innocent 

life ; 
And  how,  also,  before  the  poor  body 

was  cool, 
He   found   he   had    acted    as   villany's 

tool, 
And  died  exclaiming,  "  O   fool !  fool ! 


MORAL. 

Young  ladies!  —  beware  of  hasty  con- 
nections ; 

And  don't  marry  suitors  with  swarthy 
complexions ; 

For  though  they  may  chance  to  be 
capital  fellows, 

Depend  upon  it,  they  're  apt  to  be  jeal- 
ous! 

Young  "gentlemen!   pray    recollect,   if 

you  can, 
To  give  a  wide  birth  to  a  meddlesome 

man  ; 
And  horsewhip  the  knave  who  would 

poison  your  life 
By  breeding  distrust  between  you  and 

your  wife ! 


SONNETS. 


THREE  LOVES. 

I  HAVE  known  various  loves  of  women. 

One 
Gave  all  her  soul  (she  said),  but  kept 

intact 
Her  marble  lips,  and   ever  seemed  to 

shun 
Love's  blandishments,  as  if  his  lightest 

act 

Were  fatal  to  his  life.     Another  gave 
All  luxury  of  love  that  woman's  art 
Could  lend  in  aid  of  Beauty's  kisses  — 

save 
What  she,  alas!  had  not  —  a  loving 

heart. 
Poor,  dear,  dead  flowers !     One  with  no 

root  in  earth ; 

And  one  no  breath  of  Heaven's  sus- 
taining air; 
No  marvel   briefly  they  survived   their 

birth ; 

And  then  my  true-love  came  (0  won- 
drous fair 
Beyond  the  twain!)   whose    soul    and 

sense  unite 

In  perfect  bloom  for  Love's  supreme 
delight. 


MY  QUEEN. 

I  CALL  her  Queen  —  the  lady  of  my 

love  — 
Since  that  in  all  one  sceptreless  may 

clnim 

Of  true  nobility  to  suit  the  name, 
She  is  right  royal,  —  and  doth  so  ap- 
prove 
My  loving  homage.     All  that  painter's 

art 

And  poet's  fantasy  delight  to  find 
In    queenliness    is   hers:    the   noble 

mind, 
The  stntelv  bearing,  and  the  gracious 

heart ; 

The  voice  most  musical,  the  brow  se- 
rene, 
And    beaming    benediction  —  like  a 

queen ! 
And  oh,  such  peerless   beauty,  that,  I 

swear 
(Recalling  each  fair  face  that  lond 

Renown 

Hath  found,  or  feigned,  beneath  a  jew- 
eled crown) 

I  flatter  queens,  to  call  her  "queenly 
fair!  " 


244 


BEREAVEMENT. 


"  WITH  MY  BODY  I  THEE  WOR- 
SHIP." 

Anglican  Marriage  Service. 

THAT  I  adore  thee,  my  most  gracious 

queen, 
More   in   my  spirit   than   my  body's 

sense 

Of  thine,  were  such  incredible  pretense 
As  I  would  scorn  to  utter.     Thou  hast 

seen 
When  eyes  and  lips,  responsive  to  the 

heart, 
Were  bent  in  worship  of  thy  lips  and 

eyes, 
Until* oh  bliss!  each  pleasure-pulsing 

part 
Hath  found  its  fellow  in  Love's  sweet 

emprise ; 
Each  answering  other  in  such  eager 

wise 
As  they  would  never  cease  to  kiss  and 

cling  — 
Ah !  then  meseemed  amid  the  storm  of 

sighs 
I  heard  thy  voice  exclaiming,  "  O  my 

King ! 

So  may  my  soul  be  ever  true  to  thine, 
As  with  thy  body  thou  dost  worship 

minp.  1  " 


PAN   IMMORTAL. 

WHO  weeps  the  death  of  Pan  ?    Pan  is 

not  dead, 
But  loves  the  shepherds  still ;  *  still  leads 

the  fauns 

In  merry  dances  o'er  the  grassy  lawns, 
To  his  own  pipes  ;  as  erst  in  Greece  he 

led 
The  sylvan  games,  what  time  the  god 

pursued 
The  beauteous  Dryope.     The  Naiads 

still 
Haunt    the   green    marge    of    every 

mountain  rill; 

The  Dryads  sport  in  every  leafy  wood ; 
Pan  cannot  die  till  Nature's  self  decease  ! 
Full  oft  the  reverent  worshiper  des- 
cries 

His  ruddy  face  and  mischief-glancing 
eyes 

*  Pan  curat  oves,  oviumque  magistios.  — VIR- 


Beneath  the  branches  of  old  forest-trees 
That   tower    remote    from    steps   of 

worldly  men, 
Or  hears  his  laugh  far  echoing  down 

the  glen ! 


THE   BEAUTIFUL. 

TO   STELLA. 

ALL  things  of  beauty  are  not  theirs  alone 
Who  hold  the  fee;  but  unto  him  no 

less 
Who  can  enjoy,  than   unto  them  who 

own, 

Are  sweetest  uses  given  to  possess. 
For   Heaven  is  bountiful;    and   suffers 

none 
To  make  monopoly  of  aught  that 's 

fair; 

The  breath  of  violets  is  not  for  one, 
Nor  loveliness  of   women ;    all   may 

share 
Who  can  discern  ;  and   He  who  made 

the  law, 
"  Thou  shalt   not   covet,"  gave  the 

subtile  power 

By  which,  unsinning,  I  may  freely  draw 
Beauty  an<l  fragrance  from  each  per- 
fect flower 
That  docks  the  wavside,  or  adorns  the 

lea, 

Or  in  my  neighbor's  garden  blooms  for 
me  ! 


BEREAVEMENT. 

NAT,   weep    not,   dearest,    though   the 

child  be  dead  ; 
He  lives  a^ain  in  Heaven's  unclouded 

life, 

Wirh  other  angols  that  have  early  fled 
From  these  dai'k   scenes  of  sorrow, 

sin,  and  strife. 
Nay,    weep   not,    dearest,    though   thy  • 

yearning  love 

Would  fondly  keep  for  earth  its  fair- 
est flowers, 

And  e'en  deny  to  brighter  realms  above 
The  few  that  deck  this  dreary  world 

of  ours : 
Though  much  it  seem*  a  wonder  and  a 

woe 

That  one  so  loved  should  be  so  early 
lost, 


•  O  ver  purpureuin."     Page  245. 


TO 


245 


And   hallowed  tears  may  unforbidden 

flow 

To  mourn  the  blossom  that  we  cher- 
ished most, 

Yet  all  is  well ;  God's  good  design  I  see, 
That  where  our  treasure  is,  our  hearts 
may  be. 


TO  MY  WIFE    ON   HER   BIRTH- 
DAY. 

WHAT  ! ty  years  ?  —  I  never  could 

have  guessed  it 

Bv  any  token  writ  upon  your  brow, 
Or  other  test  of  Time,  —  had  you 

not  now, 
Just  to  surprise  me,  foolishly  confessed 

it. 
Well,  on  your  word,  of  course,  I  must 

receive  it ; 

Although  (to  say  the  truth)  it  is,  in- 
deed, 
As    proselytes    sometimes   accept    a 

creed," 
While  in  their  hearts  they  really  don't 

believe  it ! 
While  all  around  is  changed,  no  change 

appears, 
My  darling  Sophie,  to  these  eyes  of 

mine, 
In  aught  of  thee  that  I  have  deemed 

divine, 
To  mark  the  number  of  the  vanished 

years,  — 
The  kindly  years  that  on  that  face  of 

thine 

Have  spent  their  life,  and,  "dying, 
made  no  sign  !  " 


TO  SPRING. 

"O  VER  PTTRPITREUM!" —  Violet  -  col- 
ored Spring 
Perhaps,  good  poet,  in  your  vernal 

days 
The  simple  truth  might  justify  the 

phrase ; 
But  now,  dear  Virgil,  there  is  no  such 

thing ! 

Perhaps,  indeed,  in  your  Italian  clime, 
Where  o'er  the  year,  if  fair  reporf  be 

true, 

Four  seasons  roll,  instead  of  barely 
two, 


There  still  may  be  a  verdant   vernal 

time; 
But  here,  on  these  our  chilly  northern 

shores, 
Where  April  gleams  with  January's 

snows,  — 
Not  e'en  a  violet  buds ;  and  nothing 

"  blows," 
Save  blustering  Boreas, — dreariest  of 

bores. 

0  ver  purpureum  '  where  the  Spring  dis- 
closes 
Her  brightest  purple  on  our  lips  and 

noses ! 


THE  VICTIM. 

A  GALLIC  bard  the  touching  tale  haa 

told 
How  once  —  the  customary  dower  to 

save  — 

A  sordid  sire  his  only  daughter  gave 
To  a  rich  suitor,  ugly,  base,  and  old. 
The   mother  too   (such  mothers  then 

have  been) 
With  equal  pleasure  heard  the  formal 

vow, 
"With  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee 

endow," 
And   gave  the   bargain  an   approving 

grin. 

Then,  to  the  girl,  who  stood  with  droop- 
ing head, 

The  pallid  image  of  a  wretch  forlorn, 
Mourning  the  hapless  hour  when  she 

was  born, 
The  Priest  said,  "  Agnes,  wilt  thou  this 

man  wed  1 " 
"  Of  this  my  marriage,  holy  man," 

said  she, 

"  Thou  art  the  first  to  say  a  word  to 
me!" 


TO . 

THINE  is  an  ever-changing  beaaty  ; 

now 
With  that  proud  look,  so  lofty  yet 

serene 
In  its  high  majesty,  thou  seem'st  A 

queen, 
With  all  her  diamonds  blazing  on  het 

brow ! 
Anon  I  see  —  as  gentler  thoughts  aria* 


216 


CHANGE  NOT  LOSS. 


And    mould    th 
sweet  con 


trol  — 


features  in  their 


The   pure,   white  ray  that  lights  a 

maiden's  soul, 
And    struggles    outward    through  her 


drooping  eyes. 
Anon  they  flash ;  and  now  a 


alden  light 


Bursts  o'er  thy  beauty,  like  the  Ori- 

'    ent's  glow, 
Bathing     thy    shoulders'     and     thy 

bosom's  snow, 
And  all  the  woman    beams  upon  my 

sight ! 
I  kneel  unto  the  queen,  like  knight  of 

yore; 
The  maid  I  love ;  the  woman  I  adore ! 


TO  A  CLAM. 

Dum  tacent  i-lamnnt. 

INGLORIOUS  friend  !  most  confident  I  am 
Thy  life  is  one  of  very  little  ease  ; 
Albeit  men    mock    thee   with    their 

similes 

And  prate  of  be 

What   though 

fra 


e  of  being  "  happy  as  a  clam  !  " 
ough    thy  shell    protects   thy 
agile  head 
From  the  sharp  bailiffs  of  the  briny 

sea? 
Thy  valves  are,  sure,  no  safety-valves 

to  thee, 
While  rakes  are  free  to  desecrate  thy 

bed, 
And  bear  thee  off,  —  as  foemen   take 

their  spoil,  — 
Far  from  thy  friends  and  family  to 

roam  ; 
Forced,  like  a  Hessian,  from  thy  na- 

tive home, 

To  meet  destruction  in  a  foreign  broil  ! 
Though   thou    art    tender,    yet    thy 

hum!  ile  bard 

Declares,  O  clam  !  thy  case  is  shock- 
ing hard  ! 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

PRETTY    picture    hangs  before  my 

view; 
The  fnce,  in  little,  of  a  Southern 

dame, 
To  me  unknown  (though  not  unknown 

to  fame) 


Save  by  the  lines  the  cunning  limner 

drew. 

So  grandly  Grecian  is  the  lady's  head, 
I  took  her  for  Minerva  in  disguise  ; 
But  when  I  marked  the  winning  lips 

and  eyes, 
I  thought  of  Aphrodite,  in  her  stead  ; 


ug 
the 


And  then  I  kissed  her  calm,  unanswer- 

ing  mouth 
(The  picture  's  mine)   as  any  lover 

might, 

In  the  deep  fervor  of  a  nuptial  night, 
And  envied  him  who,  in  the  "  Sunny 

South," 
Calls  her  his  own  whose  shadow  can 

impart 
Such    very   sunshine  to  a  Northern 

heart  ! 


SOMEWHERE. 

SOMEWHERE  —  somewhere    a    happy 

clime  there  is, 

A  land  that    knows  not  unavailing 
woes, 

Where  all  the  clashing  elements  of  this 
Discordant  scene  are  hushed  in  deep 
repose. 

Somewhere  —  somewhere  (ah  me,  that 

land  to  win!) 

Is  some   bright   realm,    beyond   the 
farthest  main, 

Where  trees  of  Knowledge  bear  no  fruit 
of  sin, 

And  buds  of  Pleasure   blossom  not  in 
pain. 

Somewhere  —  somewhere   an   end  of 

mortal  strife 

With  our  immortal  yearnings ;  never- 
more 

The  outer  waning  with  the  inner  life 
Till   both  are  wretched.      Ah,  that 
happy  shore ! 

Where    shines    for  aye   the   soul's  re- 
fulgent sun, 

And  life  is  love,  and  love  and  joy  are 
one ! 


CHANGE  NOT  LOSS. 

I  DEEM  to  love  and  lose  by  love's  decay 
In  either  breast,  or  Fate's  unkindly 

cross, 
Is  not,  perforce,  irreparable  lews 


MISERERE. 


247 


Unto  the  larger.     There   may  come  a 

day, 
Changing  for  precious  gold  Affection's 

dross, 
When  the  great  heart  that  sorely  sighed 

to  say 
" Farewell!"  unto  the  late-departed 

guest 

(The  transient  tenant  of  an  idle  breast) 
Shall,  through    the  open   portal,   wel- 
come there 
A  worthier  than  he  who  barred  the 

place 
Against  the  loitering  lord,  whose  regal 

face 
And  princely  step  proclaim  the  lawful 

heir 
Arrived  —  ah,  happy  day  !  —  to  fill 

the  throne 
By  royal  right  divine  his  very  own  ! 


A  LA  PENSEE. 

COME  to  me,  dearest !  Oh,  I  cannot  bear 
These  barren  words  of  worship  that 

to  each 

The  other  utters.     In  the  finer  speech 
Of  soft  caresses  let  our  souls  declare 
Their  opulence  of  love  ;  for  while  instead 
We  linger  prattling,   kind   Occasion 

slips, 
Leaving   to  pensive  sighs  the  pallid 

lips 
That  else  for  pleasure  had  been  ruby 

red. 
Thanks !  darling,  thanks  !    Ah,  happier 

than  a  king 

In  all  beaiitude  of  royal  bliss 
Is  he  whose  mouth  (again  !  oh  perfect 

kiss!) 
May  thus  unto  thine  own  with  rapture 

cling  ; 

For  very  joy  of  love  content  to  live 
Unquestioning  if  Love  have  more  to 
give! 


ABSENCE. 

ABSENT  from  thee,  belove'd,  I  am  pent 

In  utter  solitude,  where'er  I  be ; 
My  wonted  pleasures  give  me  small  con- 
tent 

Wanting  the  highest,  —  to  be  shared 
by  thee. 


Reading,  —  I  deem  I  misemploy  my 

eyes, 
Save  in  the  sweet  perusal  of  thine 

own ; 
Talking,  —  I  mind  me,  with  enamoured 

sighs, 
What  finer  use  my  moving  lips  have 

known 

When  (as  some  kind  orchestral  instru- 
ment 
Takes  up  the  note  the  singer  failed  to 

reach) 
Uncounted  kisses  rapturously  lent 


The  finished 
speech ; 


in  ing  to  my  halting 


Remembering  this,  I  fondly  yearn  for 

thee, 
And  cry,  "  O  Time !  haste  !  bring  my 

love  to  me  !  " 


BIENVENUE. 

THRICE  welcome    day   that   ends  the 

weary  night 

Of  love  in  absence.    Hush,  my  throb- 
bing heart ! 
I  hear  her  step,  — » she  comes !  who 

now  can  part 
The  happy  twain  whose  soul  and  sense 

unite? 
Oh,  can  it  be?      Is  this  no  mocking 

dream  ? 
Nay,  bv  these  clasping  hands,  that  f er- 

ve'nt  kiss, 

( Honey  Hybla !)  and  by  this,  and  this, 
I  know  thee  for  my  own.    Ah!  now  I 

deem 
The  gods  grow  envious  of  an  earthly 

bliss 

That  dims  Elysian  raptures,  and  I  seem 
More  blest  than  blest  Endvmion;  for 

he 
Saw  not  his  love,  while  I,  with  doting 

eyes, 

Oh  joy  ineffable  !  do  gaze  on  thee, 
Whose  circling  arms  enclose  my  Para- 


MISERERE. 

I  THINK  the  pity  of  this  earthly  life 
Is  love :  so  sighs  a  singer  of  the  day, 
Whose  pensive  strain  my  sympathetic 
lay 

Sadly  prolongs.  Alas !  the  endless  strife 


248 


THE   GRATEFUL  PREACHER. 


Of  love's   sweet  law  with  cold  conven- 
tion's rules ; 
The  loviug^souls  unloved ;  the  perfect 

mate, 
After  long  years  of  yearning,  found  — 

too  late  ! 
The  treason  of  false  friends ;  the  frown 

of  fools ; 
The  fear  that  baffles  bliss  in  beauty's 

arms ; 
The   weariness  of  absence ;    and  the 

dread 
Of    lover  —  or    of   love  —  untimely 

dead !  — 
Musing  on   these,   and  all   the  direful 

harms 
That     hapless    human    hearts    are 

doomed  to  prove, 
I  think  the  pity  of  this  life  is  love ! 


AQUINAS  AND  THE  BISHOP. 

INCREASE  of  worldly  wealth  is  not  al- 

way 
With  growth    in  grace   in  manifest 

accord  ; 

So  quaint  Aquinas  hinted  to  my  lord 
The  bishop,  when,  upon  a  certain  day, 
Surprised  while  counting  o'er  his  am- 

ple hoard 
Of  shining  ducats  in  a  coffer  stored, 


The  prelate  said, 
has  gone 


The  time,  you  see, 


When  dear  old   Mother  Church  was 

forced  to  say, 
(Acts  second)    '  Gold  and  silver  have   1 

none  !  '  " 
"  Ah  !  "    quoth    Aquinas,    shrewdly, 

"  so  I  find  ; 
But  that,  your  Grace,  was  in  the  purer 

age, 
The  very  same,  be  pleased  to  bear  in 

mind, 
When  with  her  foes  brave  battle   she 

could  wage, 

And    say   to   sordid  Satan,  'Get  be- 
hind!'1' 


THE  DILEMMA, 

Two  fashionable  women,  rather  gay 
Than  wise,  were  bosom  friends  for 

many  a  year, 

And  called  each  other  darling,  duck, 
and  dear, 


As  lovers  do,  —  till,  one  unlucky  day, 
The  younger,  falling  into  sad  disgrace 
(An    old    suspicion    blackening   into 

proof), 

Her  cautious  crony  coldly  kept  aloof, 
And,  for  a  time,  discreetly  hid  her  face. 
Meeting  at  last,  the  injured  lady  cries, 
"  Is  this  the  way  you  cherish  and  di> 

fend 
The  wounded  honor  of  your  dearest 

friend  ?  " 
"  Of  course  I  knew,"   the   timid   dame 

replies, 
"  The  tale  was  false,  —  but  then  what 

could  I  do?  — 
I  have  n't  character  enough  for  two  !  " 


THE  PAR  VENUE'S.  OPINION. 

Novus,  whose  silly  claim  to  "  high  posi- 
tion " 

Is  genuine,  if  wealth  can  make  it  true ; 
A  youth  whose  stock  —  petrolean,  not 

patrician  — 
Shines  none  the  less  for  being  fresh 

and  new,  — 

Standing  before  a  flaming  placard  sees, 
Announcing  thus  the  lecture  of  tne 

night, 

By  Everett,  —  "  The  Age  of  Pericles  !  " 
Noons,    half    doubting    if   he   reads 

aright, 

Repeats  the  words  (  soliloquizing  loud) 
"  The  Age  of  Pericles  !  —  I   wonder 

now' 
Why  such  a  theme  should   gather  all 

this  crowd 
That  throngs   the   door  with  such   a 

mighty  row ; 

There  is  n't  one  among  'em,  I  '11  engage, 
Who  cares  a  Jiff  about  the  fellow's  age  !  " 


THE  GRATEFUL  PREACHER. 

A  STROLLING  preacher,  "  once  upon  a 

time," 

Addressed  a  congregation  rather  slim 
In  numbers,  —  yet  bis  subject  was  sub- 
lime 
('T  was   "Charity");    sonorous   was 

the  hymn, 
Fervent    the   prayer  ;    and   though  the 

house  was  small, 
He  pounded  lustily  the  Sacred  Word, 


REMEMBRANCE. 


249 


And   preached   an   hour  as  loud  as  he 

could  bawl, 
As  ono  who  meant  the  Gospel  should 

be  heard. 
And  now,  behold,  the  preacher's  hat  is 

sent 

Among  the  pews  for  customary  pence, 
But  soon  returns  as  empty  as  it  went !  — 
Whereat, — low  bowing    to    the   au- 
dience, — 
He  said,  "  My  preaching  is   not   all   in 

vain  i 

Thank    God!   I've  got   my  beaver  back 
again  !  " 


THE  AMBITIOUS  PAINTER. 

A  PAINTER  once — 'twas  many  years 

ago  — 

Gave  public  notice  it  was  his  intent 
To  change  his  style  of  art ;  and  that 

he  meant 
"  Henceforth    to    paint    like    Michael 

Angelo ! " 
The   artist's   scheme  was   sensible,    no 

doubt, 
But    still    his    pictures,    though    he 

thought  them  fine, 

Remained   so  poor  in  color  and  de- 
sign, 
His  plan  seemed  rather  hard  to  carry 

out. 

By  every  common  amateur  surpassed, 
The   people  laughed,  as  well  enough 

they  might, 

To  see  the  fellow,  in  ambition's  spite, 
Go  on  a  wretched  dauber  to  the  last ! 
To  rival  Genius  in   her  great   inven- 
tions 

Needs  (that's  the   moral)  more  than 
good  intentions ! 


"IF  LOVE   AND  LIFE   WERE 

ONE." 

MUCH  have  I  mused,  if  love  and  life 

were  one, 

How  blest  were  love!  how  beautiful 
were  life ! 


Which  no\ 
strife  ; 


oft,  are  alien,  or  at 


Though  each,  in  bitter  wise,  makes  se-     ' 

cret  moan 
Of  lamentation  —  knowing  well  its  own ; 
Each    needing  each,   yet    evermore 

apart ; 
Here  —  saddest  of  the  twain  —  the 

yearning  heart, 
And  there  the  barren  life.     Ah!  thus 

alone, 

Existence,  empty  of  its  chief  delight, 
Creeps,  dull  and  shallow,  to  the  weary 

close ; 

And  —  like  some  plant  shut  up  in  ray- 
less  night  — 
Love  pales  and  pines,  that  in  the 

summer  sun 
Of  life  had  flourished  like  the  garden 

rose; 

Would  God  that  ever  love  and  life 
were  one ! 


REMEMBRANCE. 

To  think  of  thee !  — it  was  thy  fond  re- 
quest, 
When,  vester-eve,  we  parted.     Ah! 

how  well 
I  heed   thy  bidding,  only  Love  may 

tell, 

Beneath  his  roses.    As,  for  welcome  rest, 
The  bird,  wing-weary,  seeks  her  downy 

nest ; 
So,  oft,  dear  Heart!   from  toil  and 

care  I  flee, 
And,  nestling  in  my  happy  thought 

of  thee, 
With  sweet  repose  my  weary  soul  is 

blest. 
To  think  of  thee  —  who  evermore  art 

near 
My  conscious  spirit;   like   the   halo 

spread, 
In  altar-pictures,  round  some  saintly 

head. 

As  't  were  of  Heaven  the  golden  atmos- 
phere,— 

What  can  I  else,  until  in  death  I  sink, 
And,  thinking  of  my  darling,  cease  to 
think ! 


250 


NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 


EPIGRAMS. 


THE  EXPLANATION. 

CHARLES,  discoursing  rather  freely 

Of  the  unimportant  part 
Which  (he  said)  our  clever  womeu 

Play  iu  Scieuce  and  in  Art, 
"  Ah  !  —  the  sex  you  undervalue  ;  " 

Cried  his  lovely  cousin  Jane. 
"  No,  indeed  ! "  responded  Charley, 

"  Pray  allow  me  to  explain  ; 
Such  a  paragon  is  woman, 

That,  you  see,  it  must  be  true 
She  is  always  vastly  better 

Thau  the  best  that  she  can  do  !  " 


FAMILY   QUARRELS. 

"  A  FOOL,"  said  Jeanette,  "  is  a  creature 

I  hate ! " 

"But   hating,"  quoth  John,  "is  im- 
moral ; 
Besides,  my  dear  girl,   it 's  a  terrible 

fate 
To  be  found  in  a  family  quarrel !  " 


TEACHING   BY  EXAMPLE. 

"  WHAT  is  the  '  Poet's  License,'  say  ?  " 

Asked  rose-lipped  Anna  of  a  poet. 
"  Now  tiive  me  an  example,  pray, 

That  when  I  see  one  I  may  know  it." 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  plants  a  kiss 

Where  perfect  kisses  always  fall. 
"  Nay,  sir !  what  liberty  is  this  ?  " 

"  The  Poet's  License,  —  that  is  all ! " 


A   COMMON  ALTERNATIVE. 

"  SAT,  what 's  to  be  done  with  this  win- 
dow, dear  Jack  ? 

The    cold  rushes  through  it  at  every 

crack." 

Quoth  John :  "I  know  little  of  car- 
penter craft, 


But  I  think,  my  dear  wife,   you   will 

have  to  go  through 
The  very  same  process  that  other  folks 

do,— 
That  is,  you  must  list  or  submit  to  the 

draught !  " 


A  PLAIN   CASE. 

WHEN  Tutor  Thompson  goes  to  bed, 
That  very  moment,  it  is  said, 
The  cautious  man  puts  out  the  light, 
And  draws  the  curtain  snug  and  tight. 
You  marvel  much  why  this  should  be, 
But  when  his  spouse  you  chance  to  see, 
What  seemed  before  a  puzzling  case 
Is  plain  as  —  Mrs.  Thompson's  face  ! 


OVER-CANDID. 

BOUNCING  Bess,  discoursing  free, 

Owned,  with  wondrous  meekness, 
Just  one  fault  (what  could  it  be  ?) 

One  peculiar  weakness ; 
She  in  candor  must  confess 

Nature  failed  to  send  her 
Woman's  usual  tenderness 

Toward  the  other  gender. 
Foolish  Bessie !  —  thus  to  tell ; 

Had  she  not  confessed  it, 
Not  a  man  who  knows  her  well 

Ever  would  have  guessed  it ! 


NEVER  TOO  LATE   TO  MEND 

"  HERE,  wife,"  said  Will,  "  I  pray  yon 

devote 

Just  half  a  minute  to  mend  this  coat, 
Which  a  nail  has  chanced  to  rend." 
"  'T  is   ten  o'clock  ! "  said  his   drowsy 

mate. 

"I  know,"  said  Will,  "  it  is  rather  late, 
But  't  is  '  never  too  late  to  mend '  !  " 


ON  AN  ILL-READ  LAWYER. 


251 


AN   EQUIVOCAL  APOLOGY 

QUOTH  Madam  Bas-blea,  "  I  hear  you 

have  said 
Intellectual    women    are    always    your 

dread ; 

Now  tell  me,  dear  sir,  is  it  true  ?  " 
"  Why,   yes,"    answered    Tom,  "  very 

likely  I  may 
Have   made   the   remark,  in  a  jocular 

way ; 
But  then,  on-  my  honor,  I  did  n't  mean 

you ! " 


TOO   CANDID  BY   HALF. 

As  Tom  and  his  wife  were  discoursing 
one  day 

Of  their  several  faults,  in  a  bantering 

way, 

Said  she  :  "  Though  my  wit  you  dis- 
parage, 

I  'm  sure,  my  dear  husband,  our  f  nends 
will  attest 

This  much,  at  the  least,  that  my  judg- 
ment is  best." 

Quoth   Tom,  "  So   they  said  at  our 
marriage ! " 


ON  A   RECENT  CLASSIC  CON- 
TROVERSY. 

NAT,  marvel  not  to  see  these  scholars 

fiiiht. 
In  brave  ilisdain  of  certain  scath  and 

scar ; 
Tis    but     the    genuine    old     Hellenic 

spite,  — 

"When    Greek    meets   Greek,    then 
comes  the  tug  of  war ! " 


Quoth   David  to   Daniel,  "Why  is  it 

these  scholars 
Abuse  one   another  whenever    thev 

speak  ? " 
Quoth   Daniel  to  David,  "  It  nat'rallv 

follel-s 

Folks   come  to  hard   words  if  they 
meddle  with  Greek ! " 


LUCUS   A  NON. 

Yon  '11  oft  find  in  books,  rather  ancient 

than  recent, 
A  gap  in  the  page  marked  with  "  cetera 

desunt* 
By  which  you  may  commonly  take  it 

for  granted 
The  passage  is  wanting  without  being 

wanted ; 
And  may  borrow,  besides,  a  significant 

hint 
That  desunt  means  simply  not  decent  to 

print ! 


A  CANDID  CANDIDATES 

WHEN  John  was  contending   (though 

sure  to  be  beat) 
In  the  annual  race  for  the  Governor's 

seat, 
And  a  crusty  old  fellow  remarked,  to  his 

face, " 
He  was  clearly  too  young  for  so  lofty  a 

place, — 
"  Perhaps  so,"  said  John  ;  "  but  consider 

a  minute  ; 
The  objection  will  cease  by  the  time  I 

am  in  it ! " 


NEMO  REPENTE  TURPISSIMUS. 

BOB  SAWYER  to  a  man  of  law 
Repeating  once  the  Roman  saw, 
"  Nemo  repente  "  —  and  the  rest, 
Was  answered  thus :  "  Well,  I  protest, 
However  classic  your  quotation, 
I  do  not  see  the  application." 
"  '  T  is  plain  enough,"  responded  Saw- 
yer: 

"It  takes  three  years  to  make  a  law- 
yer ! " 


ON  AN  ILL-READ  LAWYER. 

AN  idle  attorney  besought  a  brother 
For  something  to  read,  —  some  novel  01 

other, 

That  was  really  fresh  and  new. 
"  Take    Chitty ! "     replied     his     legal 

friend, 

"  There  is  n't  a  book  that  I  could  lend 
Would  prove  more  novel  to  you  ! " 


252 


THE  LOST  CHARACTER. 


CONJURGIUM  NON  CONJUGIUM. 

DICK  leads,  it  is  known,  with  his  vixen- 
ish wife, 

In  spite  of  their  vows,  such  a  turbulent 
life, 

The  social  relation  of  Dick  and  his 
mate 

Should  surely  be  written  The  Conjurgal 
State! 


CHEAP    ENOUGH. 

THEY  've  a  saying  in  Italy,  pointed  and 

terse, 
That  a  pretty  girl's  smiles  are  the  tears 

of  the  purse. 
"  What  matter  ?  "  says  Charley,  "  Can 

diamonds  be  cheap  ? 
Let  lovers  be    happy,   though    purses 

should  weep !  " 


ON  AN  UGLY  PERSON  SITTING 
FOR  A  DAGUERREOTYPE. 

HERE  Nature  in  her  glass  —  the  wanton 

elf- 
Sits  gravely  making  faces  at  herself ; 
And,  while"  she  scans  each  clumsy  fea- 
ture o'er, 

Repeats  the  blunders  that  she  made  be- 
fore! 


ON  A  FAMOUS   WATER-SUIT. 

MY  wonder  is  really  boundless, 

That  among  the  queer  cases  we  try, 

A  land-case  should  often  be  groundless, 
And  a  water-case  always  be  dry  ! 


KISSING  CASUISTRY. 

WHEN  Sarah  Jane,  the  moral  Miss, 
Declares  't  is  very  wrong  to  kiss, 

I  '11  bet  a  shilling  I  see  through  it ; 
The  damsel,  fairly  understood, 
Feels  ju<t  as  any  "Christian  should,  — 

She  'd  rnther  sujfer  wrong  than  do  it ! 


TO  A  POETICAL  CORRESPOND- 
ENT. 

ROSE  hints  she  is  n't  one  of  those 
Who  have  the  gift  of  writing  prose; 
But  poetry  is  une  autre  chose, 
And  quite  an  easy  thing  to  Rose ! 
As  if  an  artist  should  decline, 
For  lack  of  skill,  to  paint  a  sign  ! 
But,  try  him  in  the  landscape  line, 
You  'll'find  his  genius  quite  divine  ! 


ON  A  LONG-WINDED  ORATOR. 

THREE  Parts  compose  a  proper  speech 
(So  wise  Quintilian's  maxims  teach), 
But  Loquax  never  can  get  through, 
In  his  orations,  more  than  two. 
He  does  n't  stick  at  the  "  Beginning ; " 
His  "Middle"  comes  as  sure   as  sin- 
ning ; 

Indeed,  the  whole  one  might  commend, 
Could  he  contrive  to  make  an  "  End  !  " 


THE   THREE   WIVES. 

A    JUBILATION. 

MY  First  was  a  lady  whose  dominant 

passion 
Was  thorough  devotion  to  parties  and 

fashion ; 

My  Second,  regardless  of  conjugal  duty, 
Was  only  the  worse  for  her  wonderful 

beauty ; 
My  Third  was  a  vixen  in  temper  and 

life, 
Without  one  essential  to  make  a  good 

wife. 

Jubilate  !  at  last  in  my  freedom  I  revel, 
For  I  'm  clear  of  the   World  and  the 

Flesh  and  the  Devil  J 


THE   LOST   CHARACTER. 

JULIA  is  much  concerned,  God  wot, 
For  the  pood  name  — she  has  n't  got ; 
So  mortgagors  are  often  known 
To  guard  the  soil  they  deem  their  own, 
As  if,  forsooth,  they  did  n't  know 
The  land  was  forfeit  long  ago. 


ON  A  MISER. 


253 


A   DILEMMA. 

WHENEVER  I  marry,"  says  masculine 

Ann, 
I  must  really  insist  upon  wedding  a 

man ! " 


But  what  if  the  man  (for  men  are  but 

human) 
Should  be  equally  nice  about  wedding  a 

woman? 


EPIGEAMS. 


FROM    THE    LATIN   OF   MARTIAL. 


IN  FAVOR  OF  MAKING  NEW 
FRIENDS. 

(AD  FUSCUM.) 

You,  worthy   man,   whose    noble    life 

commends 
Your  generous    heart    and  gives  you 

many  friends, 
If  in  your  breast  a  place  there  yet  may 

be 
For  one  friend  more,  oh,  give  that  place 

to  me ! 

Reject  me  not  because  I  am  not  proved  ; 
Till  they  were  known,  not  one  of  all 

was  loved ; 

New  as  I  am,  —  the  trial  fairly  past,  — 
1  '11  prove,  perhaps, "  a  good  old  friend," 

at  last  ! 


MAIDEN  MANNERS. 
(AD  FLACCUM.) 

"  WHICH  like  you  best,"  my  friend  in- 
quires, 

"  A  maid  extremely  bold  or  shy  ?  " 
No  man  of  sense,  I  think,  admires 

A  leering  or  a  lowering  eye, 
For  me,  the  juste  milieu  I  seek; 

I  fain  would  leave  alone 
The  girl  who  rudely  slaps  my  cheek 

Or  volunteers  her  own  ! 


ON  A  NIGGARDLY  FELLOW. 
(AD  OECILANUM.) 

A  WEALTHY  old  fellow  whose  table  was 

bare 
Of  meats  that  were  less  than  a  week 

or  two  old, 
One  day,  when  a  friend  was  invited  to 

share 
A  remnant  of  mutton  both  scraggy 

and  cold, 
Inquired  of  his  guest  how  to  manage 

his  ice, 
And  where  should  he  keep  it  1  "  Why, 

keep  it   by  Jove  !  " 
Retorted  the  friend,  "  since  you  ask  my 

advice,  — 

Keep  your  ice  in  your  kitchen  —  shut 
up  in  your  stove  ! " 


ON   A   MISER. 

(AD  CINNAM.) 

IF  it  be  true,  as  grave  historians  say, 
That,  just  by  sipping  poison  every  day, 
King  Mithridates  grew  at  last  to  be 
Quite  poison-proof,  't  is  plain  enough  to 

see 
Your  style  of  dining  makes  it  mighty 

clear 
Death  by  starvation  you  've  no  cause  to 

fear! 


254 


ON  A  SUICIDE. 


ON  A  CRITIC. 
(AD  AUCTUM.) 

A  BROTHER  scribbler  calls  my  verses 

wrong 
In  point  of  art ;  small  merit  he  can 

see. 
Well,  since  my  readers  like  my  simple 

song, 
That,  I  am  sure,  is  quite  enough  for 

me; 
The   man  who  gives   a  public  dinner 

looks 
To  please  his  guests,  not  other  people's 

cooks ! 


ON  A  QUIBBLING  SUPPLICANT. 


(DE    MARONE.) 

MA'RO'S  dear  friend  was  sick,  and  like 
to  take 

A  trip,  untimely,  o'er  the  Stygian  lake ; 

So  IVlaro  vowed,  if  Heaven  would  kindly 
spare 

His  crony's  life,  in  answer  to  his  prayer, 

He  'd  build  a  church,  to  show  his  grati- 
tude. 

The  friend  gets  well.  Quoth  Maro,  "  I 
conclude, 

Since  prayers  alone  so  perfectly  suc- 
ceed, 

Of  building  churches  there  is  little 
need ! " 


ON  A  COXCOMB. 

(IN   EFFRONTEM.) 

YOUR  nose  and  eyes  your  father  gave, 

you  say ; 
Your    mouth,  your    grandsire ;   and 

your  mother  meek, 
Your  fine  expression.     Tell  me,  now,  I 

pray, 

Where,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  you 
got  your  cheek  ! 


ON  A  QUACK    DOCTOR. 

(IN    MALUM    1IEDICUM.) 

PHLEBOTAMDS,  a  quack  before, 
Seeks  now  a  soldier's  fame  ; 

A  change  of  title,  —  nothing  more,  - 
His  trade  is  still  the  same  ! 


ON  A  LITIGIOUS  MAN. 

(IN    GARGLIANUM.) 

WHAT  !  twenty  years  at  law,  my  friend ! 

Why  didn't  you  contrive 
To  save  your  skin  and  make  an  end, 

By  getting  beat  in  five  ? 


TO  A  BORROWING  FRIEND. 

(AD    FAU8TINUM.) 

You  say  you  're  sorry  that  you  cannot 

pay 

"  That  little  loan  "  you  promised  me  to- 
day ; 

I  can't  dispute  you,  since,  in  very  sooth, 
What  you  aver  may  be  the  simple  truth  ; 
Sorry  or  not,  my  friend,  I  much  incline, 
To  think  your  grief  not  half  so  deep  as 
mine! 


ON  A  SUICIDE. 
(DE  FANNIO.) 

POOR  Fannius,  who  greatly  feared  to 

die, 

Embraced  the  enemy  he  fain  would  fly. 
Strange    contradiction,   weary    of    tliu 

strife, 

He  ceased  to  live  from  very  love  of  life  , 
With  his  own  hand  he  stops  his  vit;il 

breath ; 
Madness  extreme!  —  to  die  for  fear  of 

death ! 


LOVE  CROWNED. 


255 


ON  CHEAP  PURCHASING. 

(DE  BASSU.) 

"  SEE  here  !  "  cries  Bassus,  in  a  brand- 
new  coat, 

Worth,  at  the  least,  a  fifty-dollar  note ; 

"  I  got  it  at  a  bargain.     Please  to  guess 

How  much  it  cost.  A  hundred?  Vastly 
less! 

There  's  not  one  man  in  twenty  who  can 
buy 

A  coat  or  hat  one  half  so  cheap  as  I." 

"  That 's  true,"  quoth  Tom  ;  "  his  surely 
is  the  praise 

Of  buying  mighty  cheap  —  who  never 
pays !  " 


ON   A   SPENDTHRIFT. 
(AD  PHILOMUSUM.) 

To  you,  while  yet  he  lived,  your  father 
lent 

Two  thousand  pounds  a  month  —  in 
folly  spent ; 

Though  large  the  stipend,  each  succeed- 
ing day 

Brought  fresh  demands  to  melt  ihe  sum 
away. 

Now,  all  his  wealth  is  yonrs  without  his 
care ; 

You  're  disinherited  by  being  heir ! 


TO  AN  UGLY  WOMAN  WITH  A 
SWEET  VOICE. 

(DE    VETDLA.) 

WHEN  first  I  met  thee  — in  the  dark 
alone  — 

And  heard  entranced  thy  voice's  dulcet 
tone, 

My  heart  was  pierced  with  love's  deli- 
cious pain  ; 

But  when  I  saw  thee,  I  was  well  again ! 


THE    TRUTHFUL    PRETENDER. 
(DE  CINNA.) 

CINNA,  who  lives  in  such  a  splendid 
style 


That  many  deem  him  rich  still  wears  a 
smile 

Of  mock  humility,  which  says,  "Be 
sure, 

Whatever  folks  may  fancy,  I  am  poor." 

Ah !  vain  pretense  to  cheat  familiar 
friends, 

Who  know  full  well  he  is  what  he  pre- 
tends ! 


ON  A   RICH    MAN'S    COUNTRY- 
SEAT. 

(IN    HABKNTEM    AMJENAS    ^EDE8.) 

YOUR  parks  are  unsurpassed  in  noble 
trees  ; 

A  finer   bath  than   yours  one   seldom 
sees; 

Grand  is  your  colonnade,  and  all  com- 
plete 

The  stone  mosaic  underneath  yonr  feet ; 

Your  steeds   are   fine;    yonr"  hunting- 
grounds  are  wide, 

And  gleaming  fountains  spout  on  every 
side  ; 

Your  drawing-rooms  are  grand  ;  there 's 
nothing  cheap 

Except  the  places  where  you  eat  and 
sleep ! 

With  all  the  space  and  splendor  you 
have 

Oh,  what  a 
not ! 


rming  mansion  you  have 


LOVE  CROWNED. 

A  MAIDEN,  with  a  garland  on  her  head, 
Sat  in  her  bower  between  two  lovers  : 

one 
Wore  such  a  wreath  as  hers  ;  the  other 

none. 

But  him,  in  merry  wise,  she  garlanded 
With  that  she  wore  ,  then,  gayly,  took 

instead 
The  other's  wreath  and  wore  it  as  her 

own ; 
Whereat  both  smiled,  each  deeming  she 

had  shown 
Himself  the  favorite.   Though  she  noth 

ing  said 

Concerning  this  by  any  spoken  word, 
Yet  by  her  act,  methinks,  the  maid  pre- 

"f erred 
The  lover  she  discrowned.     A  frieudlj 

thing 


256 


ON  DINING   WITH  STRANGERS. 


Or  whimsical  —  no  more  —  the  gift  she 

gave 
(A  queen   might   do  as  much   by  any 

slave), 
But  he  whose  crown  she  wore  was  her 

heart's  king. 


ON  A  POOR  MAN  OF  EXTRAV- 
AGANT  HABITS. 

(AD     CASTOREM.) 

SUCH  lavish  purchases,  my  giddy  friend, 
To  thoughtful  minds    an  auction-sale 
portend  ; 


It  needs  no  prophet,  surely,  to  fore- 
tell, 

Who  buys  so  much  will  soon  have  all  to 
sell! 

ON  DINING  WITH  STRANGERS 

(AD   FABULUM.) 

You  bid  me  dine  with  folks  unknown, 

And  wonder  I  decline  ; 
Well,  when  I  choose  to  dine  alone, 

I  stay  at  home  and  dine  ! 


NOTES. 


NOTE  l.    Page  33. 

THE  tale  of  "Miralda"  is  based  on 
a  popular  legend,  of  which  an  excellent 
prose  version  may  be  found  in  Ballou's 
"  History  of  Cuba." 

NOTE  2.     Page  36. 

This  piece  is  an  imitation  of  a  poem 
by  Praed,  entitled  "  My  Partner." 
There  are  two  other  pieces  in  this  col- 
lection, which,  in  deference  to  certain 
critics,  I  ought  to  mention  as  imitations 
of  the  same  author.  There  is,  indeed,  a 
resemblance,  in  the  form  of  the  stanza 
and  in  the  antithetic  style  of  treatment, 
to  several  poems  of  Praed  ;  but  as  both 
the  metre  and  the  method  are  of  ancient 
date,  and  are  fairly  the  property  of 
whomsoever  may  employ  them,  no  fur- 
ther acknowledgment  seems  necessary 
than  thnt  which  is  contained  in  this 
note.  The  same  remark  will  apply  to 
"  The  proud  Miss  MacBride,"  which  is 
written  in  the  measure,  and  (longo  inter- 
vallo)  after  the  manner  of  Hood's  in- 
comparable "  Golden  Legend." 

NOTES.    Page  64. 

"  Potter,  the  Great  Magician,"  —  a 
clever  conjurer  of  a  former  generation, 
—  is  still  vividly  remembered  by  many 
people  in  New  Hampshire  and  Ver- 
mont. 

NOTE  4.    Page  87. 

The  first  stanza  of  this  poem  I  must 
credit  to  a  fragment  of  an  anonymous 
German  song,  which  I  found  afloat  in 
some  newspaper.  The  remaining  stan- 
zas are  built  upon  the  suggestion  of  the 
first. 

NOTES.    Page  119 

If  my  version  of  "  The  Ugly  Anut " 
17 


is  more  simple  in  plot  than  the  pro0f 
story  in  the  "  Norske  Folke-eventer,"  it 
certainly  gains  something  in  retinemeal 
by  the  variation. 

NOTE  6.    Page  127. 

I  'm  aware  this  dainty  version 
Is  n't  quite  the  thing  to  go  forth 

For  the  Grecian's  "  suggenesthai," 
"  Ep  oikematos,"  and  so  fort!) ; 

But  propriety  's  a  virtue 
I  'm  always  bound  to  show  forth. 

NOTE  7.    Page  130. 

The  tradition  of  the  Wandering  Jajr 
is  very  old  and  popular  in  every  country 
of  Europe,  and  is  the  theme  of  many 
romances  in  prose  and  verse.  The  old 
Spanish  writers  make  the  narrative  aa 
diabolical  and  revolting  as  possible ; 
while  the  French  and  Flemish  author* 
soften  the  legend  (as  in  the  present  bal- 
lad) into  a  pathetic  story  of  sin,  suffer- 
ing, and  genuine  repentance. 

NOTE  8.    Page  140. 

This  story  is  found  in  many  modern 
languages.  In  the  present  version,  the 
traveler  is  a  Frenchwoman  in  Holland ; 
in  another,  he  is  an  Englishman  in 
France  ;  and  in  a  third,  a  Welshman  in 
some  foreign  country.  The  Welsh  story 
(a  poem,  of  which  an  anonymous  cor- 
respondent has  sent  me  a  translation)  is 
perhaps  the  best ;  though  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  say  which  is  the  oldest. 

NOTE  9.    Page  171. 

Of  this  and  the  following  Fahfc» 
credited  to  Yriarte,  it  is  proper  to  sny 
that  they  are  taken  from  French  ver- 
sions of  the  works  of  the  great  Spanish 
Fabulist,  and  therefore  make  no  pie* 


258 


NOTES. 


tension  of  fidelity —whether  of  matter 
or  manner  —  to  the  original  text.  I 
take  occasion  of  this  note  to  add,  con- 
cerning other  pieces  in  this  volume, 
that,  though  derived  directly  from  the 
Greek,  Roman,  German,  and  French 
originals,  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  — 
as  the  scholarly  reader  will  observe,  — 
not  so  ranch  translations  as  paraphrases, 
wherein  I  have  endeavored  to  preserve 
the  spirit  of  the  author,  while  consult- 
ing the  exigencies  of  an  English  poem 
in  respect  of  rhyme  and  rhythm  and 
general  manner  of  treatment. 

NOTE  10.    Page  204. 

"  To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are 
not  dull." 

Pere  Bouhours  seriously  asked  "  if  a 
German  could  be  a  bel  esprit."  This 
concise  question  was  answered  by  Kra- 
mer,  in  a  ponderous  work  entitled  Vin- 
dicice  nominis  Germanicoe. 

NOTE  II.    Page  206. 

*  In  closest  girdle,  0  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest-stepping 
shoes." 

Imitated  from  the  opening  couplet  of 
Holmes's  "  Terpsichore,"  — 

"  In  narrowest  girdle,  0  reluctant  A/iise, 
In  closest  frock,  and  Cinderella  shoes. 

NOTE  12.    Page  207. 

" '  She  stoops  to  conquer '  in  a  '  Grecian 
Curve.' " 

Terence,  who  wrote  comedies  a  little 
more  than  two  thousand  years  ago,  thus 
alludes  to  this  and  a  kindred  custom 
then  prevalent  among  the  Roman 
girls  :  — 

"  Virgines,  quas  matres  student 
Demissis  humeris  esse,  vincto  corpore, 
ut  graciles  fiant." 

The  sense  of  the  passage  may  be 
given  in  English,  with  sufficient  accu- 
racy, thus :  — 

Maidens,  whom  fond  maternal  care  has 
graced 

With  stoopin?  shoulders,  and  a  cinct- 
ured waist. 


NOTE  13.     Page  208. 

"  Their   tumid  tropes  for  simple   '  Bun- 
combe '  made." 

Many  readers,  who  have  heard  about 
"  making  speeches  for  Buncombe,"  may 
not  be  aware  that  the  phrase  originated 
as  follows :  A  member  of  Congress 
from  the  county  of  Buncombe,  North 
Carolina,  while  pronouncing  a  mag- 
niloquent set-speech,  was  interrupted 
by  a  remark  from  the  Chair  that  "  the 
seats  were  quite  vacant."  "  Never 
mind,  never  mind,"  replied  the  orator, 
"  I  'm  talking  for  Buncombe  !  " 

NOTE  14.     Page  208. 

"  Till  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 
And  higher  still  in  fierce,  envenomed  hate." 

"  Sed  jurgia  prima  sonare 
Incipiunt  animis  ardentibus !  hsec  tuba 

rixae  ; 
Dein  clamore  pari  concurritur,  et  vice 

teli 
Ssevit  nuda  manus."  —  Juv.  Sat.  xv. 

NOTE  15.    Page  210. 
"  Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came." 

This  poem  was  written  at  the  instance 
of  the  Associated  Alumni  of  Middlebury 
College,  and  spoken  before  that  Society, 
July  22,  1846. 

NOTE  16.    Page  210. 

"  No  singer's  trick,  — conveniently  to  bring 
A  sudden  cough  when  importuned  to  sing." 

The  capriciousness  of  musical  folk, 
here  alluded  to,  is  by  no  means  peculiar 
to  our  times.  A  little  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  Horace  had  occasion  to  scold 
the  Roman  singers  for  the  same  fault :  — 

"  Omnibus  hoc  vitium   est   cantoribus, 

inter  aniicos, 
Ut  nunqmm  inducant  animum  cantare 

rogati  ; 
Injussi  nunquam  desistant."  — Sat.  iii. 


NOTE  17.    Page  217. 

tsh  the  wail  of  Peter  I 
host." 
Rev.  Sydney  Smith,  the  English  au- 


And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymletf* 
Ghost." 


NOTES. 


259 


thor  and  wit,  lately  deceased,  who, 
having  speculated  in  Pennsylvania 
Bonds  to  the  damage  of  his  estate,  be- 
rated "the  rascally  repudiators  "  with 
much  spirit,  and  lamented  his  losses  in 
many  excellent  jests. 

NOTE  18.    Page  217. 

"  Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  interpose 
As  stubborn  rvalls  to  geographic  foes, 
Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to  divide 
The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  either 
side." 

"  Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.      Mountains  inter- 
posed 


Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into 
one." 

Cowper. 

NOTE  19.    Page  218. 

"  Aristophanes,  nehose  humor  run 
In  vain  endeavor  to  be-1  cloud '  the  sun." 

An  allusion  to  the  comedy  of  "  The 
Clouds,"  written  in  ridicule  of  Socrates. 

NOTE  20.    Page  251. 

An  anecdote  of  the  gubernatorial  ca»- 
vas  in  Vermont  in  the  year  1859. 

Let  those  laugh  who  —  lose  I 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


A  beautiful  maiden  was  Echo,  132. 

A  beautiful  story,  my  darlings,  112. 

A  Bee,  whose  dainty  ear  had  grown,  178. 

A  Brahmin,  haughty,  indolent,  and  poor,  184. 

A  brother  scribbler  calls  my  verses  wrong,  254. 

A  camel-driver,  who  had  lost,  160. 

A  charming  woman,  I  've  heard  it  said,  99. 

A  damask  Rose  and  a  Lily  white,  165. 

A  fairy  of  the  friendly  sort,  165. 

A  famous  king  would  build  a  church,  181. 

A  famous  merchant,  who  had  made,  152. 

A  famous  Naturalist,  whose  knife,  174. 

A  fine  old-  cock  —  a  cock  renowned,  173. 

A  fisherman,  poor  as  poor  can  be,  141. 

"  A    fool,"    said    Jeanette,    "  is  a    creature  I 

hate  !  "  250. 

A  gallant  youth,  whose  lady-love  possesspd,  227. 
A  Gallic  bard  the  touching  tale  has  told,  245. 
A  gentleman,  about  to  make,  190. 
A  glance,  a  smile,  —  I  see  it  yet,  89. 
A  Goat  who  lent  a  ravished  ear,  177. 
A  grave  philosopher,  whose  name,  195. 
A  lady  stands  beside  the  silver  lake,  170. 
A  lazy  Hen,  —  the  story  goes,  228. 
A  little  red  Rose  bloomed  all  alone,  182. 
A  maiden,  with  a  garland  on  her  head,  255. 
A  man  who  long  had  tried  in  vain,  199. 
A  market-place  in  Athens,  where  are  seen,  221. 
A  merchant  once,  whom  Fortune  plied,  191. 
A  merchant,  —  so  the  tale  is  told,  201. 
A  monkey  clad  in  cloth-of-gold,  179. 
A  monkey  who,  by  many  a  prank,  179. 
A  mother  lobster  with  her  daughter.  192. 
A  mountebank  whose  life  displayed,  157. 
A  Nightingale  who  chanced  to  hear,  174. 
A  painter  once  —  't  was  many  years  ago,  249. 
A  Pig  and  Sheep  together  slept,  173. 
A  Pin  and  Needle  in  a  basket  lay,  146. 
A  pious  Brahmin  made  a  vow,  139. 
A  pious  Dervis,  once  upon  a  time,  115. 
A  pious  Rabbi,  forced  by  heathen  hate,  129. 
A  pious  widow';,  cottage  chanced  to  stand,  158. 
A  pompous  old  Turkey,  conceited  and  vain,  177. 
A  pretty  picture  hangs  before  my  view,  246. 
A     right    loving    welome,    my    true-hearted 

Brothers,  68. 

A  shepherd  who  was  wont  to  keep,  190. 
A  strolling  preacher,  "  once  upon  a  time,"  248. 
A  tiny  Fairy,  of  the  sort,  155. 
A  very  remarkable  history  this  is,  234. 
A  Vine  that  stood  beside  a  thriving  Oak,  161. 
A  wealthy  old  fellow  whose  table  was  bare,  253. 
A  wealthy  Syrian  -  Abdallah  by  name,  159. 
"  A  wedding  of  Silver  !  —  and  what  shall  we 

do?  "72. 

A  youth  was  traveling  on  a  summer's  day,  156. 
A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden,  7. 
Absent  from  thee,  beloved,  I  am  pent,  247. 


Again  I  hear  that  creaking  step,  17. 

Ah  !  many  a  guest  is  coming,  76. 

Ah  me !  those  joyous  days  are  gone !  71. 

Ah  !  we  love  each  other  well,  89. 

Ah  !  well  I  love  these  books  of  mine,  94. 

Ah  !  who  but  oft  hath  marveled  why,  143. 

All  men  think  all  men  mortal  but,  197. 

All  modern  themes  of  poesy  are  spun  so  very 

fine,  229. 

All  the  old  sages,  however  indeed,  77. 
All  things  of  beauty  are  not  theirs  alone,  244. 
An  Ass  whose  customary  toil,  179. 
An  Attorney  was  taking  a  turn,  20. 
An  idle  attorney  besought  a  brother,  251. 
An  old  Hellenic  saw  declares,  1C6. 
And  can  it  be  ?    Ah,  yes,  I  see,  95. 
"  Appeal  to  Reason !  "  writes  a  sage,  185. 
As  landsmen,  sitting  in  luxurious  ease,  210. 
As  Tom  and  his  wife  were  discoursing  one  day, 

251. 
As  two  young  friends  were  walking  out,  one 

day,  164. 

As  Wisdom  one  evening  was  taking  a  stroll,  144. 
At  an  old-fashioned  inn,  with  a  pendulous  sign, 

At  Upsala's  high  altar,  183. 

Below  Mount  Jura  lies  a  vale,  198. 
Beneath  the  hill  you  may  see  the  mill,  20. 
Bless  me  !  what  a  rosy  row,  226. 
Bob  Sawyer  to  a  man  of  law,  251. 
Bond  slave  to  Omphale,  89. 
Bouncing  Bess,  discoursing  free,  250. 
By  way  of  good  example,  74. 

Captain  Jones  was  five-feet  ten,  29. 

Charles,  discoursing  rather  freely,  250. 

Cinna,  who  lives  in  such  a  splendid  style,  256. 

Come  and  see  us,  any  day,  100. 

Come  list,  my  dear,  130. 

Come,  listen  all  unto  my  song,  21. 

Come  listen  awhile  to  me,  my  lad,  62. 

Come,  name  my  fault.  I  said,  that  I,  90. 

Come  to  me,  dearest !  Oh,  I  cannot  bear,  247. 

Count  Felix  was  a  man  of  worth,  14. 

Cupid,  we  know,  is  painted  blind,  194. 

"  Curse  on  all  curs !  "  I  heard  a  cynic  cry,  49. 

Dame  Nature,  when  her  work  was  done,  185. 
Dan  Phae'thon  —  so  the  histories  run,  233. 
Dear    Brothers:    I'm  something   unhappy,  I 

heard,  101. 
Dear  Brothers,  who  sit  at  this  bountiful  board, 

71. 

Dear  Charles,  be  persuaded  to  wed,  43. 
Dear  Clara,  —  I  wish  you  were  here,  63. 
Dear  Cloe,  —  I  'm  deeply  your  debtor,  63. 
Dear  Knick :  While  myself  and  my  spouse,  6ft 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Dear  Tom,  have  you  forgot  the  day,  45. 

Dick  leads,  it  ia  known,  with  his  vixenish  wife, 

252. 

Do  I  love  thee  ?  Ask  the  bee,  90. 
"Don't  forget  me  !  "  sighing  sadly,  82. 

Each  for  himself  must  do  his  Master's  work, 

201. 
Every  coin  of  earthly  treasure,  1. 

Farewell !  Howe'er  it  fare  with  me,  96. 

Few  hearts,  however  brave  they  may  appear, 

158. 
Full  often  I  have  heard  it  said,  22. 

"  Give  me  a  motto  !  "  said  a  youth,  6. 

Give  me  kisses !  Do  not  stay,  83. 

Give  me  your  soldiers'  bracelets  ;  all,  Ifi6. 

"  Go  seaward,  son,  and  bear  a  light,"  182. 

"  God  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep !  " 

46. 

Good  friends,  pray  listen,  if  yon  please,  225. 
Good  Rabbi  Nathan  had  rejok-ed  to  spend,  108. 
"  Good-by  !  good-by  !  "  the  driver  said,  100. 
Good-by,  Old  Year  !  I  can  but  say,  73. 
"  Got  any  boys?  "  the  Marshal  said,  41. 

"  Handsome  and  haughty  !  "  —  a  comment  that 

came,  74. 

Have  pity,  Lord  !  —  we  humbly  cry,  97. 
He  calls  me  beautiful ;  and  I,  90. 
Hear  thou  my  prayer,  O  angel  kind,  90. 
Here,  e'en  the  sturdy  democrat  may  find,  218. 
Here  Nature  in  her  glass  —  the  wanton  elf,  252. 
Here    rests,   at    last,   from  worldly  care    and 

strife,  8. 

Here,  wife,  said  Will,  I  pray  you  devote,  250. 
Ho  !  every  gallant  knight  and  squire,  222. 
41  Ho  !  ho  !  ha  !  ha  !  —  what  is  it  I  view  ?  "  155. 
How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Well,  47. 

I  asked  of  Echo,  t'  other  day,  87. 

I  call  her  Queen  —the  lady  of  my  love,  243. 

I  cannot  vouch  my  tale  is  true,  140. 

I  deem  to  love  and  lose  by  love's  decay,  246. 

I  have  known  various  loves  of  women.   One,  243. 

I  know  a  girl  with  teeth  of  peirl,  81. 

I  know  by  sages  we  are  told,  226. 

I  know,  Justine,  you  speak  me  fair,  99. 

I  long  have  been  puzzled  to  guess,  27. 

I  once  was  a  jolly  young  beau,  01. 

I  saw  her  last  night  at  a  party,  8. 

I  saw  you,  lately,  at  an  hour,  88. 

I  spilt  the  salt  one  day,  —  and,  worse,  225. 

I  think  it  was  a  Persian  king,  28. 

I  think  the  pity  of  this  earthly  life,  247. 

If  it  be  true,  as  grave  historians  say,  253. 

If  Virtue  be  measured  by  what  we  resist,  91. 

If  you  ever  should  marry,  said  Mijor  McGarth, 

66. 

I  '11  tell  you  a  story  of  Thomas  Brown,  52. 
I  'm  notified,  fair  neighbor  mine,  85. 
Imperial  Jove,  who,  with  wonderful  art,  237. 
In  a  famous  Tuscan  city,  85. 
In  Babylon,  some  ages  since,  201. 
In  B  illston  —  once  a  famons  spot,  36. 
In  Blarney  Castle,  on  a  crumbling  tower,  65. 
In  Cairo  once  there  dwelt  a  worthy  man,  105. 
In  Casena  dwelt  a  widow,  131 . 
In  charming  old  Herodotus,  126. 
In  Cuba,  when  that  lovely  land,  33. 
In  grateful  reward  of  some  generous  thing,  153. 
In  my  watching  or  my  dreaming,  81. 
in  Normandy  there  reigned  a  king,  75. 


In  olden  times,  when  —  it  is  said,  171. 
In  this,  our  happy  and  "  progressive  "  age,  203. 
Increase  of  worldly  wealth  is  not  alway,  248. 
Inglorious  friend  !  most  confident  I  am,  246. 
la  it  true,  what  they  tell  me,  my  beautiful 

cousin,  95. 

It  was  a  famous  nobleman,  114. 
It  was  a  jolly  mariner,  51. 
It  was  a  little  maiden,  119. 
It  was  a  merry  monarch,  115. 
It  was  a  noble  Roman,  42. 
It  was  an  honest  fisherman,  23. 
It  was  in  an  Irish  city,  88. 
It  was  in  my  foreign  travel,  29. 
It  was  six  men  of  Indostan,  111. 
I  've  been  drinking,  I've  been  drinking,  86. 
I  've  thought,  uiy  Cousin,  it 's  extremely  queer, 

60. 

Jack  Newman  was  in  love  ;  a  common  case,  17. 
Johnson  was  right.     I  don't  agree  to  all,  41. 
Julia  is  much  concerned,  God  wot,  252. 
Julia  once  and  once  again,  91. 

King  Midas,  prince  of  Phrygia,  several  thou- 
sand years  ago,  232. 
Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me  low,  82. 

Let  others,  dazzled  by  the  shining  ore,  217. 
Long,  long  ago,  ere  Sin  had  come,  180. 
Looking  out  into  the  night,  72. 
Love  and  Lucre  met  one  day,  144. 

Madam  —  you  are  very  pressing,  44. 

"  Mais,  gardez-vous,  mon  cher,"  she  said,  38. 

Maro's  dear  friend  was  sick,  and  like  to  take, 

254. 
Much  have  I  mused,  if  love  and  life  were  one, 

249. 

Much  lately  have  I  though^,  my  darling  wife,  '24. 
My  days  pass  pleasantly  away.  2. 
My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shilling  wit,  24. 
My  First  was  a  lady  whose  dominant  passion, 

252. 

My  Furies  all  are  getting  old,  and  fill,  194. 
My  wonder  is  really  boundless,  252. 

Nay,  marvel  not  to  see  these  scholars  fight,  251. 
Nay,  weep  not,  dearest,  though  the  child  be  de  id, 

244. 

Near  Babylon,  in  ancient  times,  124. 
Near  Lake  Mohrin  't  is  said,  by  day  and  nigl.t, 

193. 

No,  no,  my  boy  !  let  others  sweat,  78. 
Not  with  a  craven  spirit  he,  6. 
NOVUP,  whose  silly  claim  to  "high  position," 

248. 

"  O  hateful  Death  !  "  my  angry  spirit  cries,  104. 

O  I  am  Little  Peter,  228. 

O  mighty  Prince  !  80. 

O  moon  !  did  you  see,  87. 

O  Prince  of  Wales,  66. 

O  since  't  is  decreed  by  the  envious  Fates,  85. 

O  terribly  proud  was  Miss  MarBride,  10. 

"  O  ver  purpureum  !  "  —  Violet-colored  Spring, 

245. 

O  wise  Assembly  !  and  O  wispr  Senate,  103. 
Of  all  amusements  for  the  mind,  7. 
Of  all  the  fables  quaint  and  old,  150. 
Of  course,  my  dear  Charley,  I  hold,  100. 
Oh  1  have  a  man  as  pood  as  can  be,  77. 
Old  Time  and  young  Love,  on  a  morning  in  May, 

8%. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


263 


Once  in  Madrid  —  the  story  goes,  175. 

Once,  iii  Madrid,  there  dwelt  a  worthy  man, 

176. 

Once  on  a  time  a  man  of  sterling  sense,  167. 
Oiice  on  a  time  a  stranger  came,  147. 
Once  on  a  time,  at  Erivan,  19G. 
Once  on  a  time  —  if  tales  are  true,  178. 
Once  on  a  time,  in  Indostan,  161. 
Om;e  on  a  time,  Lafontaiue  writes,  200. 
"  Once  on  a  time  "  there  flourished  in  Madrid, 

122. 

Once  on  a  time  there  flourished  in  Nevers,  134. 
Once  on  a  time  —  't  was  long  ago,  109. 
Once  on  a  time  —  we  need  not  care,  202. 
Once  on  sublime  Olympus,  when,  164. 
Once,  when  a  lad,  it  was  my  hap,  64. 
Once,  when  the  King  was  traveling  through,  192. 
One  little  moment  more,  Maud,  83. 
One  o'clock  !  and  still  I  ponder,  82. 
One  summer's  day—  the  tale  is  told,  154. 
Our  life  is  but  a  puppet  show,  227. 

Perhaps,  my  dear  boy,  you  may  never  have 

heard,  238. 

Phlebotamus,  a  quack  before,  254. 
Poor  Fannius,  who  greatly  feared  to  die,  254. 
Pray  list  unto  a  legend,  108. 
"  Pray,  what  do  they  do  at  the  Springs  ?  "  49. 

Quoth  Cyneas,  counselor  and  friend,  200. 
Quoth  David  to  Daniel,  Why  is  it  these  scholars, 

Quoth  Madam  Bas-bleu,  I  hear  you  have  said. 
251. 

Right  jollie  is  ye  tailyor-man,  55. 
Righte  learned  is  ye  Pedagogue,  58. 
Romances  of  late  are  so  wretchedly  poor,  241. 
Rose  hints  she  is  n't  one  of  those,  252. 

Say,  what  is  life  !  'T  is  to  be  born,  2. 

"  Say,   what  shall  1  believe  ?  "   my  neighbor 

said,  92. 
Say,  what 's  to  be  done  with  this  window,  dear 

Jack  ?  250. 

Scene,  —  a  third  story  in  a  dismal  court,  219. 
"  See  here  !  "  cries  Sassus,  in  a  brand-new  coat, 

255. 

"  She  '11  soon  be  here,  the  I/xdy  Ann,"  46. 
She's  broken-h  arted,  I  have  heard,  41. 
Should  you  e'er  go  to  Brette,  be  sure  you  don't 

fail,  224. 
Should  you  e'er  go  to  France  —  as  of  course  you 

intend,  35. 

Since  you  turned  Dervish,  long  ago,  1C8. 
Singing  through  the  forests,  19. 
Sir  Orpheus,  whom  the  po?ts  have  snnp,  236. 
Sir  Walter  de  Guyon  is  surly  and  sad,  187. 
Some  years  ago,  when  I  was  young,  39. 
Somenli^re,  —  somewhere  a  happy  clime  there 

is,  246. 
Strange  is  the  sound  when  first  the  notes  begin, 

218. 
Such  lavish  purchases,  my  giddy  friend,  256. 

That  blessings  lost,  though  hard  to  bear,  162. 
That  I  adore  thee,  my  most  gracious  queen,  244. 
The  animals  once,  —  so  the  legends  report.  172. 
The  Calif  Hassan,  —  so  the  tale  is  told,  151. 
The   Caliph,   Ben   Akas,   whose  surname   was 

"  Wise,"  117. 

The  Duke  of  Milan  —  Galeazzo  named,  97. 
The  Flint  and  Steel  —  the  story  goes,  175. 
The  head  is  stately,  calm,  and  wise,  9. 


The  musty  old~maxim  is  wise,  62*. 

The  fife wi,  indeed  !  —  pray  do  you  call  it  news, 

219. 

The  Poet's  License !  —  some  there  are,  1. 
"  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,"  27. 
The  saying  is  wise,  though  it  sounds  like  a  jest,  3. 
The  Sultan,  Mahmoud,  in 


in  his  early  reign,  145. 
l!"long,longago,r- 


"  The  times  are  changed  ! 

There  goes  the  Vizier  and  his  giTudy  train,  'l48. 

There  is  a  saying  of  the  ancient  sages,  3. 

There  lived  a  man  who,  from  his  youth,  189. 

There's  a  castle  in  Spain,  very  charming  to  see,  2. 

There  's  a  clever  classic  story,  142. 

There  's  a  game  much  in  fashion  —  I  think  it  V 

called  Euchre,  40. 

There  's  many  an  excellent  Saint,  48. 
There  's  trouble  in  Hungary,  now,  alas  !  128. 
They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Lawyer  Brown,  86. 
They  say  the  dark-eyed  maids  of  Spain,  83. 
They  've  a  saying  in  Italy,  pointed  and  terse, 

252. 

Thine  is  an  ever-changing  beauty ;  now,  245. 
This  tragical  tale,  which,  they  say,  is  a  true  one, 


Three  parts  compose  a  proper  speech,  252. 
Thrice  welcome  day  that  ends  the  weary  night, 

Thrice  welcome  the  place  where  at  twenty  I 

sought,  76. 

Thus  I  heard  a  poet  say,  9. 
Thyrsis,  enamored  of  a  maid,  162. 
'T  is  twenty  years  and  something  more,  37. 
"  To  be,  not  seem  !  "  —  the  phrase  is  old,  94. 
To  good  Ben  Asher  —  of  immortal  fame,  170. 
To  him  who  sang  of  "  Home,  sweet  Home,"  101. 
To  Psyche,  when  her  maiden  heart,  167. 
"  To  the  manly  will  there  's  ever  a  way,"  169. 
To  think  of  thee  !  —  it  was  thy  fond  request,  249. 
To  you,  while  yet  he  lived,  your  father  lent,  255. 
Tom  Godwin  was  an  actor-man,  44. 
To-morrow  is  St.  Martin's  day,  185. 
Two  College  Professors,  —  I  won't  give  their 

names,  132. 

Two  fashionable  women,  rather  gay,  248. 
Two  sparrows,  votaries  of  Love,  156. 
Two  wandering  angels,  Sleep  and  Death,  152. 

Up  spoke  the  Goldsmith  proudly,  223. 
Upon  the  faithful  in  the  common  things,  197. 
Upon  the  monarch's  brow  no  shade  is  shown, 


"  What  is  the  « Poet's  License,'  say  ?  "  250. 
What !  twenty  years  at  law,  my  friend  !  254. 
What! ty  years?  — I  never  could  have 

guessed  it,  245. 
When  all  his  comrades  drank  the  magic  bowl, 

198. 

When  Beauty  was  born,  a  magnificent  fete,  220. 
When,  deeply  in  love  with  Miss  Emily  Cline,  58. 
When  do  1  mean  to  marry  ?  —  Well,  37. 
When  first  I  met  thee  —  in  the  dark  alone,  255. 
When  Horace  in  Vendusian  groves,  67. 
When  John  was  contending  (though  sure  to  be 

beat),  251. 
When  mighty  Jove  had  fashioned  human  kind, 

1G3. 

When  once,  in  "  Merrie  England,"  6. 
When  Sarah  Jane,  the  moral  Miss,  252. 
When  Solomon  was  reigning  in  his  glory,  138. 
When  the  peerless  Aphrodite,  238. 


264 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


When  Tutor  Thompson  goes  to  bed,  250. 

"  Whenever  I  marry,"  says  masculine  Ann,  253. 

"  Which  like  you  best,"  my  friend  inquires, 

While  drones  and  dreaming  optimists  protest, 

Who  are  these  who  come  again,  91. 

Who  buys  a  house,  however  fine,  167. 

Who  weeps  the  death  of  Pan  ?  Pan  is  not  dead, 

244. 

"  Whose  work  is  this  ?  "  Murillo  said,  150. 
"  Wliy  do  I  love  thee  ?  "  Thus,  in  earnest  wise, 

104. 

Why  humankind  should  ever  be,  192. 
With  a  gloomy  air,  78. 
With  rosy  cheeks  and  merry  dancing   curls, 

Within  a  churchyard's  sacred  ground,  4. 
Within  a  wine-vault  once  arose,  171. 


Would  you  play  the  manly  lover,  96. 
Write  a  poem  —  solemn  —  earnest,  73. 

Ye  friends  of  good  cheer,  I  pray  you  give  ear, 

134. 

You  bid  me  dine  with  folks  unknown,  256. 
You  say,  dearest  girl,  you  esteem  me,  85. 
You  say  you  're  sorry  that  you  cannot  pay, 

You,  worthy  man,  whose  noble  life  commends, 

253. 
You  '11  oft  find  in  books,  rather  ancient  than 

recent,  261. 
Your  nose  and  eyes  your  father  gave,  you  say, 

Your  novel-writers  make  their  ladies  tall,  25. 
Your    parks  are   unsurpassed  in  noble    trees, 

255. 
"  You  're  clever  at  drawing,  I  own,"  68. 


INDEX   OF  TITLES. 

[The  titles  in  small  capital  letters  are  those  of  the  principal  divisions  of  the  <vork  those  IB 
lower-case  are  single  poems,  or  the  subdivisions  of  long  poems.] 


A  la  Pens<3e,  247. 
About  Husbands,  41. 
Absence,  247. 

Advice  to  a  Young  Friend,  78. 
Ambitious  Painter,  The.  249. 
Ambitious  Vine,  The,  161. 
Aquinas  and  the  Bishop,  248. 
Augusta,  74. 

Barnyard  Critics,  The,  173. 

"  Be  Good  to  Yourself,'1  100. 

Beacon-Light,  The,  182. 

Beautiful,  The,  244. 

Beauty  of  Ballston,  The,  36. 

Bee  and  the  Cuckoo,  The,  178. 

B^n-Ammi  and  the  Fairies,  147. 

Benedict's  Appeal  to  a  Bachelor,  A,  48. 

Bereavement,  244. 

Best  of  Husband*,  The,  77 

Bienvenue.  247. 

Blarney  Stone,  The,  65. 

Blind  .Men  and  the  Elephant,  The,  lit 

Boys,  27. 

Brahmin's  Air  Castle,  The,  184. 

Briefless  Barrister,  The,  20. 

Cadi'*  Stratagem,  The,  163. 

Caliph  and  the  Cripple,  The,  117. 

Candid  Candidate,  A,  261. 

Captain  Jones's  Misadventure,  29. 

Garland  1,90. 

Carmen  Laetum,  68. 

Case  of  Conscience,  A,  133. 

Change  not  Loss,  243. 

Chapel  of  Two  Saints,  The,  86. 

Charming  \Voinan,  A,  99. 

Cheap  Enough,  262. 

Choice  of  King  Midas,  The,  232. 

Chorus  of  the  Dryads,  91. 

Clara  to  Cloe,  63. 

Cloe  to  Clara,  63. 

Cocknev,  The,  29. 

CoM- Water  Man,  The,  23. 

College  Reminiscence,  A,  45. 

Comic  Miseries,  24. 

Common  Alternative,  A,  250. 

Compensation,  6. 

Conjurgium  non  Conjugium,  252. 

Connoisseurs,  The,  171. 

Connubial  Eclogue,  A,  24. 

Coquette,  The,  68. 

Darling,  Tell  ine  Yes,  83. 


Dead  Letter,  The,  95. 

Death  and  Cupid,  143. 

Death  Insurance,  157. 

Dervis  and  his  Enemies,  The,  124. 

Dervis  and  the  King,  The,  116. 

Devil  of  Names,  The,  66. 

Dilemma,  A,  253. 

Dilemma,  The,  248. 

Dinner,  The,  76. 

Discontented  Water-Carrier,  The,  148. 

Do  I  Love  Thee  ?  90. 

Do  you  Think  he  is  Married  ?  44. 

Double  Distress,  A,  162. 

Drinking  Song,  86. 

Duke's  Stratagem,  The,  97. 

Early  Rising,  46. 

Editor's  Crime,  The,  78. 

Editor's  Sanctum,  The,  219. 

Ego  et  Echo,  87. 

El  Dorado,  217. 

Elephant's  Sermon,  The,  171. 

EPIGRAMS,  249. 

EPIGRAMS  PROM  THE  LATIN  or  MARTIAL,  292. 

Equivocal  Apology,  An,  251. 

Esse  quam  Videri,  94. 

Exaudi  Angel  us,  90. 

EXCERPTS  FROM  OCCASIONAL  POEMS,  217. 

Expected  Ship,  The,  9. 

Explanation,  The,  260. 

FABLES  AND  FAIRY  TALKS,  152. 

FABLES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  MANY  COUNTRIES,  19ft 

Fairies'  Gifts,  The,  197. 

Fairy  and  the  Three  Wishes,  The,  166. 

FAIRY  TALES,  LEGENDS  AND  APOLOGUES,  105. 

Family  Man,  The,  61. 

Family  Quarrels,  260. 

Farmer  and  the  Magic  Ring,  The,  153. 

Farmer  who  Made  his  own  Weather,  The,  200. 

Father  Pumpkin  ;  or,  Always  in  Luck,  106. 

Fighting  Cocks,  The,  173. 

Fisherman  and  the  Flounder,  The,  114. 

Five  Knaves,  The,  161. 

Flint  and  Steel,  175. 

Fools  Incorrigible,  77. 

Force  of  Example,  The,  192. 

Four  Misfortunes,  The,  129. 

Game  of  Life,  The,  40. 
Gardener  and  the  King,  The,  196. 
Ghost  in  Armor,  The,  187. 
Ghost-PHyer,  The,  44. 
Gifts  of  the  Gods,  The,  3. 
Girlhood,  28. 


266 


INDEX   OF  TITLES. 


Girls!  Pass  Along!  226. 
Goat  and  the  Horse,  The,  177. 
Gold  Fingered  Brahmin,  The,  152. 
Goldsmith's  Daughter,  The,  223. 
Good  Dog  of  Brette,  The,  224. 
Good  Time  Coming,  The,  217. 
Grateful  Preacher,  The,  248. 
Great  Crab,  The,  193. 
Grumbling  Peasants,  The,  164. 

Hassan  and  the  Angel,  151. 

Head  and  the  Heart,  The,  9. 

Heart  and  the  Liver,  The,  41. 

Hen  and  the  Honey-Bee,  The,  228. 

Hercules  Spinning,  89. 

Here  and  Hereafter,  92. 

How  Cyrus  laid  the  Cable,  2L 

How  it  Chanced,  1>5. 

How  it  Happened,  89. 

How  the  Money  Goes,  47. 

How  the  Raven  Became  Black,  142. 

How  to  \Voo  and  Win,  96. 

Hunter  and  the  Milkmaid,  The,  75. 

I'm  Growing  Old,  2. 
Icarus,  229. 
Ideal  and  Real,  39. 
'  If  Love  and  Life  were  one,"  249. 
Impartial  Judge,  The,  170. 
In  favor  of  Making  New  Friends,  233. 

Jolly  Mariner.  The,  51. 
Jupiter  and  Danae,  237. 
Jupiter  and  his  Children,  164. 
Just  one  Defect,  167. 
"  Justine,  you  love  me  not,''  99. 

King  and  the  Cottager,  The,  10& 

King  and  the  Peasant,  183. 

King  Kdc's  Triumph,  183. 

King  of  Normandy,  The,  75. 

King  Pyrrhus  and  his  Counselor,  200. 

King  Solomon  and  the  Bees,  38. 

King's  Astrologer,  The,  158. 

King's  Favorite,  The,  190. 

King's  Goblet,  The,  222. 

Kissing  Casuistry,  252. 

Knowing  Child,  The,  38. 

Lace-Weavers,  The,  175. 

Lady  Ann,  The,  46. 

Lake  Saratoga,  170. 

Laura.  104. 

Lawyer's  Valentine,  The,  85. 

Le  .Jardin  Mobile,  35. 

LEISURE-DAT  RHYMES,  91. 

Library,  The,  218. 

Lip-Service,  91. 

Little  Glass  Shoe,  The,  155. 

Little  .lerry  the  Miller,  20. 

Little  Maid  and  the  Lawyer,  The,  86. 

Little  Peter  the  Porter,  228. 

Lizards,  The,  174. 

Looking  out  into  the  Night,  72. 

Lost  Character,  The,  252. 

Love  and  Care,  156. 

Love  and  Folly,  194. 

Love  and  Joy,  180. 

Love  and  IAW,  17. 

Love  and  Lucre,  144. 

Love  and  Money,  100. 

Love  and  Poetry,  167. 

Love  Crowned,  255. 

LOVE  POEMS,  81. 


Love's  Calendar,  84. 
Lover's  Confession,  The,  90. 
Lover's  Vision,  The,  81. 
Lucus  a  Non,  251. 

Maiden  Manners,  258. 

Maiden  to  the  Moon,  The,  87. 

Masquerade,  The,  14. 

Maximilian,  6. 

Merchant,  The,  191. 

Miller  and  his  Advisers,  The.  150. 

Miralda,  33. 

Miserere,  247. 

Miserere,  Domine,  97. 

Monarch  and  the  Marquis,  The,  115. 

Money-King,  The,  210. 

Monkey-Showman,  The,  179. 

Monkey-Tourist,  The,  179. 

Mothers-in-Law,  66. 

Mourner  a  la  Mode,  The,  8. 

Much  Love,  226. 

Murillo  and  his  Slave,  150. 

My  Bald  Head,  225. 

My  Books,  94. 

My  Boyhood,  7L 

My  Castle  in  Spain,  2. 

My  Familiar,  17. 

My  Queen,  243. 

My  Saxon  Blonde,  83. 

Ne  Crede  Colon,  62. 

Nemo  Repente  Turpissimus,  25L 

Never  too  Late  to  Mend,  201). 

News,  The,  219. 

Nightingale  and  the  Organ,  The,  174. 

Nil  Admirari,  67. 

No  Admittance,  159. 

Nobleman,  the  Fisherman,  and  the  Porter,  The, 

114. 

Notes,  257. 
Nous  et  Vous,  164. 

Oath,  The,  82. 
Odes,' 

"  To  him  who  sang  of  Home,  gweet  Home," 
101. 

To  the  Legislature,  103. 

To  the  Prince  of  Wales,  66. 
Oil  Merchant's  Ass.  The,  179. 
Old  Chapel  Bell,  The,  4. 
Old  General  and  his  King,  The,  197. 
Old  Man's  Motto,  The,  6. 
Old  Year  and  the  New,  The,  73. 
On  a  Coxcomb,  254. 
On  a  Critic,  254. 
On  a  Famous  Water-Suit,  252. 
On  a  Litigious  Man,  254. 
On  a  Long-Winded  Orator,  252. 
On  a  Miser,  253. 
On  a  Niggardly  Fellow,  253. 
On  a  Poor  Man  of  Extravagant  Habits,  256. 
On  a  Quack  Doctor,  254. 
On  a  Quibbling  Supplicant,  254. 
On  a  Recent  Classic  Controversy,  251. 
On  a  Rich  Man's  Country-Seat/255. 
On  a  Spendthrift,  255. 
On  a  Suicide,  254. 
On  an  ill-read  Lawyer,  25L 
On  an  Ugly  Person  sitting  for  a  Daguerreotype 

On  Cheap  Purchasing,  255. 
On  Dining  with  Strangers,  256. 
Origin  of  Fxive,  The.  220 
Origin  of  Wine,  The,  134. 


INDEX   OF   TITLES. 


Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  236. 
Othello,  the  Moor,  241. 
Over-Candid,  260. 

Tailyor-Man,Ye,55. 
lale  of  a  Doi?,  49. 
Teaching  by  Example,  250. 

Tempera  Mutantur,  98. 

Paddy's  Ode  to  the  Prince,  80. 

Thirteen  at  Table,  225. 

Pan  Immorial,  244. 

Three  Gifts,  The,  120. 

Parrot  of  Nevers,  The,  134. 

Three  Good  Days,  The,  13L 

Part  of  an  After-  Diuner  Speech,  101. 

Three  Loves,  243. 

Parting  Words,  9b'. 

Three  Masks,  The,  186. 

Parvenu's  Opinion,  The,  248. 

Three  Wives,  The,  262. 

Past,  Future,  and  Present,  2u2. 

Thyrsis  and  Amaranth,  162. 

Pedagogue,  Ye,  58. 

Time  and  Love,  64. 

Persevere  and  Prosper,  169. 

To  ,  245. 

Phaethon,  233. 
Philosopher  and  the  Rustic,  The,  195. 
Philosophical  Query,  A,  91. 
Pin  and  the  Needle,  The,  146. 

To  a  Bachelor  Friend  in  the  Country,  100. 
To  a  Beautiful  Stranger,  89. 
To  a  Borrowing  Friend,  264. 
To  a  City  Cousin  about  to  be  Married,  95. 

Pious  Brahmin  and  his  Neighbors,  The,  139. 

To  a  Clam,  246. 

Plain  Case,  A,  i60. 

To  a  Poetical  Correspondent,  262. 

POEMS,  1. 

To  an  Ugly  Woman  with  a  Sweet  Voice,  286. 

Poet  to  his  Garret,  The,  76. 

To  Lesbia,  83. 

Poet's  Elegy,  A,  8. 

To  my  Love,  82. 

Poet's  License,  The,  1. 
Polyphemus  and  Ulysses,  234. 

To  my  Wife  on  her  Birthday,  245. 
To  Spring,  245. 

Poor  Tartar,  128. 

Tom  Brown's  Day  in  Gotham,  62. 

Portrait,  The,  246. 

Too  Candid  by  Half,  251. 

Post  Prandial  Verses,  71. 

Toujours  les  Femmes,  28. 

Power-Press,  The,  218. 

Town  and  Country,  60. 

Pride  of  Beauty,  The,  227. 

TRANSLATIONS  AND  PARAPHRASES,  220. 

Progress,  203. 
Proud  Miss  MacBride,  The,  10. 

Traveler  and  his  Friends,  The,  190. 
Traveler  and  the  Statue,  The,  221. 

Providence  Impartial,  166. 

Traveler  and  the  Tempest,  The,  20L 

Proxy  Saint,  The,  201. 

TRAVESTIES,  229. 

Puppets,  The,  227. 

Treasure  in  Heaven,  1. 

Puzzled  Census-Taker,  The,  41. 

Treasure  of  Gold,  The,  112. 

Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  230. 

Rampsinitus  and  the  Robbers,  126. 
Reason  and  Vanity,  185. 

Truthful  Pretender,  The,  255. 
Turkey  and  the  Crow,  The,  177. 
Two  Angels,  The,  1&2. 
Two  Church-Builders,  The,  181. 

Reason  versus  Custom,  167. 
Reasonable  Petition,  A,  85. 
Reflective  Retrospect,  A,  37 
Remembrance,  249. 

Two  Graves,  The,  199. 
Two  Kings,  The,  163. 
Two  Sparrows,  The,  156. 
Two  Wallets,  The,  192. 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail,  19. 

Two  Wishes,  The,  20L 

Rhymed  Epistle,  A,  69. 

Richard  of  Gloster,  238. 

Ugly  Aunt,  The,  119. 

Rival  Queens,  The,  165. 

Unrest,  82. 

Roger  Uontemps,  74. 

Romance  of  Nick  Van  Stann,  The,  140. 
Rose  and  the  Fairy,  The,  155. 

Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  The,  166. 
Venus  and  Vulcan,  238. 

Royal  Concert,  The,  172. 

Victim,  The,  245. 

Saint  Jonathan,  48. 

Vision  of  the  Faithful,  The,  197. 

Saint  Verena  and  Satan,  198. 

SATIRES,  203. 

Wandering  Jew,  The,  130. 

Sham  Library,  The,  176. 
Sheriff  of  Sauniur,  The,  192. 
Silkworm  and  the  Caterpillar,  The,  178. 
Silver  Wedding,  The,  72. 
Snake  in  the  Class,  The,  62. 

Way  of  'he  World,  'Ihe,  7. 
What  has  Become  of  the  Gods  ?  22. 
When  I  Mean  to  Marry,  37 
Where  there  's  a  Will  there  's  a  Way,  42. 
Who  shall  Shut  the  Door  ?  185. 

Some  Pencil-Pictures,  25. 

Whv  :  A  Sonnet,  104. 

Somewhere,  246. 

Wife's  Revenge,  The,  122. 

Song  of  Saratoga,  49. 
Sonnets,  243. 

Wind  and  the  Rose,  The,  182. 
Wisdom  and  Cunning,  144. 

Spell  01  Circe,  The,  198. 
Spes  Est  Vates,  3 
Stammering  Wife,  The,  58. 
Storv  of  Echo,  The,  132. 

"  Withgmy'Body,  1  Thee  Worship,"  244 
Would  n't  you  Like  to  Know  ?  81. 

Story  of  Life,  The,  2. 
Stray  Camel,  The,  160. 
Sultan  and  the  Ex-Vizier,  The,  168. 

Ye  Pedagogue,  58. 
Ye  Tailyor-Man,  55. 
Youth  and  the  Northwind,  The,  109. 

Sultan  and  the  Owls,  The,  145. 

Summer  Scene,  A,  88. 

Superfluous  Man,  The,  27. 

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